


Humility

by haraamis, kedriaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Ending, Alternate Reality, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-07
Updated: 2004-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 78,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haraamis/pseuds/haraamis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedriaa/pseuds/kedriaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After last summer's turn of events, Draco begins to look at his life in a new light. As he embarks on a journey of self-discovery, darkness looms on the horizon. With the security of his past shattered, Draco will need to learn how to trust his new allies to overcome this new threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue – Best Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

> post OoTP, not HBP/DH compliant

The still air and the cloudy skies had made the night sultry. Though it was late in August, the pleasant warmth of summer lingered. Before long the chilly tendrils of autumn would claw their way into the days.

Such a night was heartily enjoyed by the patrons of The Broken Scythe – the only magical pub within a fifteen-mile radius. The patio doors and windows to the pub were thrown open and punters sat idly with their pints, chit chatting about the latest gossip.

The door swung open to admit another punter.

"'Ere, Smithy, haven't seen you in a while!" a short, stocky man sitting at the bar cried out.

"Tell me about it, Nigel!" Meridian Smith groused as he sat down. "Been busy at work; then the missus didn't want me coming after those Ministry leaflets arrived."

"Scare-mongers, them Ministry idiots," the landlord said as he placed a pint in front of Smith.

"Oi, I work for the Ministry too, y'know," Smith scowled.

"Yeah, yeah, you know we don't mean you." Nigel waved his hand dismissively. "First they say Dumbledore and that Harry Potter are lying; now they say they're telling the truth. I mean, blimey, who's to know what's what these days, eh?"

"You got any inside info for us?" the landlord leaned over to ask Smith.

"Naw, ain't like I work for the Aurors or nothing." Smith began drinking his pint.

"Yeah, you work under the Department of Law Enforcement, no?" Nigel asked.

"Yup."

"You hear anything about them Death Eaters' trial?" A few other punters seated around them moved to listen with interest.

"Not much." Smith shook his head. "It's a closed trial, ain't it? Only high-ranking officers are in the courtroom. But that don't mean people ain't talking."

"Oh, aye? What have you heard?"

"You really reckon You-Know-Who is back?"

A barrage of questions echoed around the small pub. All attention now turned to Smith. He looked meaningfully around the room and shrugged. "I reckon so. The new Minister, Scrimgeour ain’t like Fudge, is he? I mean he was Head of the Aurors and all. So if the Minister says he's back, I reckon we shouldn't let our guard down. Them Death Eaters haven't been this bold since before You-Know-Who vanished."

A wary murmur washed over the pub as the patrons began to speculate about the situation. Amidst the chatter few had noticed as a scrawny bartender shuffled in behind the bar.

"Say Galen, what do you reckon then?" Nigel asked the bartender, who was filling another pint for the man.

"About ... You-Know-Who?" Galen asked distractedly.

"Aye."

"I wouldn't be too worried about him." He shrugged. "Someone will put a stop to him and all his Death Eaters. It's only a matter of time."

"Confident, ain't ya?" Nigel grinned into his pint as he drank deeply. "You're a Harry Potter supporter then? They say he's going to be the one to stop You-Know-Who – The Chosen One."

Galen shrugged; a small enigmatic smile touched his lips.

"What you been doing in the cellar, Galen?" the landlord asked hurriedly.

"Filling the barrels," Galen replied.

"Good job, you wanna see if we have anymore firewhiskey? We're a bit low. Once yer done, you can go, eh?"

"Sure." With that the bartender shuffled away.

Smith, Nigel and the landlord watched him go. Nigel shuddered then said, "Gives me the heebie-jeebies, that one."

The landlord shrugged. "Yeah, but he's a good lad, does the work well. Besides, it's his last night."

The trio launched into their own little conspiracy theories and speculation without further thought of the strange young man.

Once the firewhiskey had been replenished, Galen shrugged on his cloak and left the pub quietly. He stepped out into the night and strode down the road without turning back. 

With a sinister smile on his lips, he whispered into the quiet night, "Like beer, revenge is best served cold."


	2. Chapter One – Changes in the Air

Draco looked out of the carriage window, his expression almost forlorn. As the carriage pulled over to a stop, he schooled his features into one of equanimity and superiority. It was something that he had learned from an early age, thus it came to him with little effort. 

The door opened, and he swept out of the carriage with an elegant grace. Cold, grey eyes surveyed the surroundings briefly, falling upon the Muggle crowd with casual contempt.

Draco lifted his head high and squared his shoulders. No matter what had transpired in the last few months, he would not be seen as a failure nor judged by the actions of another. With an aura of confidence that few could deny, he strode upon platform nine and three quarters, leaving his luggage to his driver.

As always, the platform was a flurry of activity, parents bidding children goodbye and students greeting fellow classmates. 

While his expression betrayed none of his emotions, he felt a stab of annoyance at these foolish people that he was forced to call peers. 

_Look at them!_ he thought, _The Ministry, myopic as they are, has finally admitted the return of the Dark Lord, and these peasants prattle on as if it was nothing. News of Black's escape generated more cacophony._

With each step he drew closer to the crowd, he thought how easily it was for anyone to storm the platform and start hexing the lot of them to kingdom come. Where was the security needed to ensure that malice did not encroach? Where was the taut wariness that could mean the difference between getting killed and surviving an attack?

He did not stop walking, not even when the general hubbub had softened to an annoying buzz of hearsay and disapproving scowls.

_Yes, lock up your women and children. Send your men out to defend your villages,_ Draco thought acidly. _Malfoy is here. Plebeians._

The crowd parted; only his fellow Slytherins had dared approach. Still they did no more than to greet him with a tone of submission and fall in step behind him. Another pang of annoyance shot through him – why were Slytherins so like sheep in need of a shepherd? Had they no will of their own?

When he had drawn his attention back to those gathered on the platform, his eyes fell upon the only person who would deserve any attention.

Harry Potter stood in the company of his usual cronies made up of Weasleys, Mudbloods and outcastes. But even as Draco felt the waves of mutual contempt emanating from him and Potter, he could not help but sense the exact preparedness he would have expected from everyone in the magical world. 

As much as he loathed his Gryffindor counterpart, Draco could not help but respect him. Only Potter and his fan club understood and recognised the gravity of the Dark Lord's rebirth before it even happened. They alone had the foresight and conviction to garner allies and prepare themselves to fight for the survival of humanity.

They deserved respect even if they were fighting on the wrong side. Yes, Draco was secure enough to admit that he admired an adversary.

Even after admitting that, his lips curled into the patented Malfoy you-unworthy-peon sneer; and as expected, Potter took a step toward him, as if to protect his little secret society from Draco.

"Malfoy," Potter practically growled.

A smirk of satisfaction overlaid Draco's sneer. He found it rather pleasing that all it took was his presence to ruffle Potter's feathers.

"Missed me, Potter?" Draco quipped as he swept by without slowing. "I have enough fawning sycophants to last me a lifetime. Better luck in the next."

Said sycophants cackled and jeered Potter and his lot. Although, he enjoyed getting under Potter's skin, Draco resisted the urge to hex every single one of them. _Pathetic, spineless imbeciles._

~*~

The start of term feast began as it always had for the last five years – the sorting, the obligatory Headmaster pre-dinner speech then the meal. Everyone around Draco descended upon the food like a pack of starving hyenas. He, on the other hand ate like he was in The Gilded Chalice, the most expensive and classy restaurant in Wizarding London. Just because he was surrounded by yokels did not mean he had to act like one.

Halfway through dinner the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The Feast was not normally interrupted, thus all heads turned to look and the ambient buzzing of voices dimmed a little. The doors stood open for a moment before the clicking of boot heels preceded the entry of the latecomer.

It was clearly a she and she walked with confidence and flair. She was tall and slender. A mane of long jet-black hair was caught at her crown with several large silver clasps. Her attire was somewhat unconventional for a witch. If Draco had the opportunity for a closer investigation, he was certain that she was wearing Muggle clothing. She wore a pair of black trousers and her tunic was also black with a high neck and long sleeves. A row of silver buckles ran down her top over her left breast from collar to hem. Her knee-high boots had the buckles matching those of her top. A black cloak with a deep red lining sat lazily on her right shoulder.

As she neared the top of the tables, Draco caught a better glimpse of her features and thought that she was quite beautiful. She had golden skin with deep-set almond-shaped eyes, which were thickly lined with black kohl. The bridge of her nose was high as were her cheekbones and her lips bore a tint of sanguine. It was no surprise that all the boys were gawking at her.

While she marched up the aisle between the Slytherin and the Gryffindor tables, she had kept her head resolutely straight, her eyes focused only on the Head Table. However, as she passed Potter and his floozies, Draco noted that her eyes fell upon them and the merest inclination of her head told him she had acknowledged their presence even when she fastidiously ignored every other student.

_Oh great,_ Draco thought, _just what we needed – another righteous, sanctimonious Harry Potter lackey._

She stood before Dumbledore for a moment in whispered conversation before rounding the Head Table to take a seat next to Snape. To Draco's surprise, both she and Snape greeted each other quite amicably. Perhaps, there was hope for this one.

The Head Table resumed their eating, but the students were still gawping. Dumbledore looked up from his roast beef with amusement in his eyes before saying, "Carry on," in a clear loud voice. 

The buzz of conversation and the clinking of the cutlery against porcelain filled the hall again. It did not take a genius to guess the object of the renewed conversations.

"Who is she?" a question to Draco's left sounded in his ear. It was Blaise.

"The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," he replied in a bored tone.

"How did you know?"

"Because that's the only position not filled." He was tempted to go, 'duh!' but thought that lacked a certain finesse. "Just carry on gawking at her and stop asking me stupid questions."

"What's got your knickers in such a twist?" Blaise asked irritably, "You've been nothing but waspish and sarcastic all the way from King's Cross."

"I'm always waspish and sarcastic."

"Not to us," Pansy added.

Draco snorted and cast her a gaze that could level mountains. "What makes you so unique and special that I have to treat you differently from everyone else?"

"You're an arse, Malfoy," she retorted.

"Oh, I do so love witty comebacks," Draco cried with feigned glee then drew his attention back to his dinner. Everyone around him smart enough to not push him.

~*~

Draco draped himself lazily on his bed, discontentment crawling under his skin. The fact that he could not determine its cause exacerbated it. He had not even taken his shoes off, merely walked into his dormitory and sprawled himself on the soft eiderdown duvet.

He lay unmoving for minutes, perhaps it was hours; he didn't really care, wondering why everything since he had stepped into King's Cross Station had grated on his nerves. Unable to pinpoint the exact reason, he concluded that it was the whole coming-back-to-school-after-your-father's-been-arrested-for-being-a-Death-Eater fiasco.

Draco heard the door swing open and Nott, Crabbe and Goyle filed in. They said little as they bustled around their individual beds preparing to turn in for the night. When someone did say something, it was in a hushed whisper, as if Draco was on his deathbed and they wouldn't dream of disturbing him.

In part, Draco had no one else to blame but himself. He had made the Malfoy temperament legendary and from the moment he had set foot in Hogwarts, he had made certain that people knew when not to bother him. His dormitory mates in particular had learned that lesson well.

Without further word, Draco leapt to his feet and stalked out of the dorm. All the whispering and walking on eggshells demeanour was making him rather claustrophobic. He continued walking when he reached the common room and carried on into the hallways.

Draco didn't really know where he was going; he just needed to get out. His status as a prefect and his own reputation was enough to keep anyone with an ounce of intelligence out of his path. No one questioned where he was going as he stormed through the castle, not even the other prefects.

Just as he blindly rounded a corner, he walked into someone and stumbled back against the wall. Without thinking, Draco growled, "Left your eyes back at your dorm, imbecile?"

"No," was the smooth, unruffled reply in a sultry mezzo-soprano voice, "I have them right here." Two long slender fingers rose and pointed at light brown eyes that were rimmed in kohl.

It was the new Defence Against the Dark Art teacher. Draco had just ran into a teacher and called her an imbecile.

Draco snapped his mouth shut and glared impassively at her, making the best effort to salvage his dignity and perhaps avoid getting detention on this first night back at Hogwarts. He could do one of two things – sway the new teacher with his charm or stay true to his Slytherin pride and act like it was her fault.

Before Draco could do either, she smirked at him, her eyes scrutinising him. It was quite an arresting smirk and it made Draco think twice about any attempts to run circles around her. She looked at him like she could see right into his soul. It was not a comforting feeling for one so guarded like Draco.

"Mister Draco Malfoy," she said. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Yes, Professor." Draco wondered if his reputation was really that formidable for a new teacher to already know him without introduction.

"Far be it for me to be telling you what to do, as I am new here, but correct me if I'm wrong, Mister Malfoy, is it not past your bedtime?"

Draco blinked at her in nigh-incomprehension. Had he just been told off like a petulant child? Even his parents did not patronise him like so. A part of him was outraged by her presumption to order him around; the other was intrigued by her audacity.

"Just making my rounds, Professor," he replied.

"Indeed?" She raised an elegant eyebrow at him. Her expression clearly told Draco she did not believe him, but she wasn't going to pursue the matter. "Don't let me stand in your way of fulfilling your duties then. Good night, Mister Malfoy."

She inclined her head at him in regal acknowledgment then continued on her way. Draco stared after her, thinking how strange their new teacher was. If nothing else Draco had always been an excellent judge of character. He also knew exactly how to handle each teacher to his maximum advantage.

Take Snape, for example, he craved recognition and respect. Snape had a brilliant mind and was dedicated to his work, but, no doubt because of his less than scintillating personality, people often saw him as a self-serving opportunist. Recognise him for what he had done, and he would return the compliment.

McGonagall, unquestionably renowned for her achievements in her field, couldn't care less whether people lauded her personal genius or not. In fact, she would rather not have all that fuss. Her devotion to her work came from her desire to share her knowledge. She was all about giving her students the best chances to make something out of their lives – be it turning themselves into animals or acting with honour. To make her proud, one only needed to show that you did not flout her wisdom.

Dumbledore, eccentric, seemingly aloof and unconventional, could be just as predictable as the former two. There were fundamental virtues that he would hold true no matter what and in that staunch resolution, his motives and aims could be foreseen, even if the means to those ends could not be. Know a man's destination and you can be there to surprise him when he reaches it.

While Draco fully admitted that this was the first time he had spoken to the new teacher, he could not deny that first impressions do provide a basis of foundation to one's opinion on another. He would take the time to observe and analyse her. There was a certain _je ne sais quoi_ about her that captured his curiosity.

~*~

Defence Against the Dark Arts was irrefutably the most erratically taught subject in the last five years. Each year's syllabus was as unique as the professor who delivered it. Draco wondered if this year was going to be the good kind of unique or the bad kind. Although, after his brief encounter with the teacher, he doubted that it could be the latter.

No longer a mandatory subject in the sixth year, the current class was made up of a select few across all the houses. Naturally, Draco noted, Potter and his most faithful pair of floozies were there, seated on the right in the first row of desks like the goody-goody boot-lickers they were.

Draco wasn't sure what had prompted him, but he, too, moved straight to the front and seated himself on the left side. Weasley threw him a scandalised look, but neither Granger nor Potter even batted an eyelid.

Blaise, closely followed by Pansy, slid into the seat next to him and asked, "Why are we sitting in the front?"

"To give you an unobstructed view of the Professor to ogle at."

Blaise frowned at him.

Moments later, the door to the classroom swung open and the clicking of heeled boots sounded in the room. Everyone turned to look. Again the absence of a typical witch's robes made her quite conspicuous. She wore a sleeveless red roll neck top and fingerless gloves that spanned from wrists to biceps. Her black trousers were boot cut and a wide leather belt sat snugly on her hips, off which her wand was holstered. After all, a fitting outfit like hers left little room for ungainly pockets. 

_Nor the imagination either,_ Draco thought wryly.

Draco looked around and noticed that the collective expressions of the class were divided into two, which clearly told him that the boys wanted her, and the girls wanted to be like her.

"Good morning," she said as she walked up the aisle to her desk. "I'm Taira Rei. You should address me as Professor Taira."

"Good morning, Professor Taira," the class chimed in, as if in conditioned response to Umbridge's negative programming in their fifth year.

Taira spun around at the front of the classroom and pinned them with an inquisitive look. "You are my fifth class this week, and this is the fifth time I've heard that same conditioned reply. No doubt Professor Umbridge has done a number on you too."

Soft chuckling rippled through the class. 

"You need not greet me in that manner. I'm not here to train golems, but to teach people," she continued, walking down the aisle again, this time slower, taking the time to conduct a visual examination on the class. "I judge each person by their own merits, and it is very hard to do so if you are all acting like entities of a collective hive mind. Don't be afraid to be an individual.

"And to be true to that ethos, you may consider me colour blind where houses are concerned."

A wave of incomprehension washed over the students. Whatever could she mean?

"While under my tutelage, you will be awarded for your brilliance and punished for your belligerence. Not your house. You will be evaluated without the burden of your houses' centuries of established reputation, both good and bad. Thus, I encourage you to see one another as you are and not be blinded by the reds, blues, yellows and greens that you wear."

Taira strode back to her desk and perched on the edge, allowing the significance of her words to sink in. 

Then with a calculative smirk, she added, "Colour blind notwithstanding, do not make the mistake in thinking that I am more lenient that the other Professors and that I will not be deducting house points out of this classroom if I feel it's necessary to do so."

The class chuckled again. 

"Right, shall we begin?" she asked rhetorically and launched into her lesson.

Draco was right in thinking that she was unusual. He could not remember any teacher having the charisma to win over the class in the first five minutes. Sure, Snape commanded attention the moment he walked in the door, as did McGonagall, but he was certain that it was fear of both professors that brought the students in line. Respect and admiration came later for them. 

Had Taira asked, the class would've marched in the vanguard of the upcoming war to face the Dark Lord himself.

Draco was officially impressed.

He watched her as she paced up and down the room. He watched the others as their gaze followed her every move, their attention hanging on each word like their lives depended on it. He watched how, even with minds clouded by desire of different sources, his fellow students grasped the meaning of her teachings.

As Draco watched, he wondered if she was the Oriental cousin of Europe's own veela. Taira certainly garnered interest like one. And as Draco watched her, he then suddenly noted that someone else was watching him.

Potter.

What did that sanctimonious fool want?

Grey eyes locked onto green ones, distaste and enmity clearly tinted both. Silent insults were exchanged, muted death threats hurled at each other. Both had perfected this unique skill in expressing the aversion they had for each other with their eyes alone.

The world narrowed down to just the two of them, each fighting for domination in this battle of wills. It was then that a sudden realisation dawned on Draco. Potter was looking at him with a new emotion – a kind of unguarded jealousy; one that had everything to do with their new Professor.

Draco found it strange that Potter was telling him that since he was probably the only one in the class not drooling at her. Perhaps because of all present, Potter recognised that the only person who could pose a challenge for him in winning Taira's favour was Draco himself. For that matter, who was he to her to give him the right to give such warnings?

A small smirk curled Draco's lips, the first hint of true expression on either faces. He raised an eyebrow at Potter and smirked. If nothing else, he did it to rattle Potter in his cage. Instantly, Potter's expression grew dark.

"If Messrs Potter and Malfoy are quite done with making eyes at each other, perhaps either one of them could tell me what I just said?"

Both of them started at the mention of their names; they drew their gazes away from each other and looked dumbfounded at Taira. Blessedly, the magical chime of the bell signalled the end of the lesson. The others left the classroom but Draco and Potter were detained.

"This is not the way to impress me on your first lesson, gentlemen." She gave them an appraising look and it took Draco effort not to quail. "I hear your rivalry is legendary in Hogwarts. Something that could even be worthy of _Hogwarts: A History_. To be honest, I don't care about it. So, let's leave your testosterone induced bull fights at the doorstep, eh?"

Potter's cheeks reddened, and Draco was immensely pleased that he had long learned how to mask what he considered as weaker emotions – things like embarrassment and awkwardness.

"Yes, Professor," Harry brown-noser Potter said almost immediately.

Draco inclined his head regally. "As you wish, Professor."

With that, she dismissed them. Neither boy said anymore until the door to the classroom clicked shut behind them. Draco, perhaps looking for an avenue to vent his pent up aggression, began his well-honed taunting techniques on Potter. After five years of practice, this was becoming an art form.

"You surprise me, Potter. I never thought of you falling for the older women. A siren like her, I bet she'd have a lot to each you, eh?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Oh, the witty comebacks never cease to entertain me." Draco laughed. "Really, Potter, after five years I would've thought you could have come up with something other than 'Shut up, Malfoy.'"

"You're not worth the effort."

"And yet here you are, standing rooted to the ground, amusing me with your smorgasbord of unique retorts."

When Potter did not immediately reply, Draco smirked then continued, "Or lack thereof."

"Sure, whatever, Malfoy." Potter sighed tiredly then turned away from Draco and walked down the hallway towards the Great Hall. 

For the second time in the week, Draco felt as though he had been dismissed like a child. It was almost acceptable to get such a treatment from Taira, almost, but to have Potter treat him like he didn't matter ruffled every last feather on Draco's back.

Draco would not stamp his foot. He was far too dignified for that kind of puerile behaviour. So much for venting on Potter; all that short-lived conversation served to do was make Draco more irritable. 

_Bloody Potter,_ he thought to himself. _Bloody Taira,_ he added, _Goddamned pharisaic, sanctimonious Gryffindors._

~*~

The weekend finally came but unlike his classmates, Draco did not revel in it as much. Instead of thinking of it as a break from homework and classes, he felt like it was more of a mockery. It offered the notion of respite from your daily toils and lulled you into a false sense of relaxation and calm. And before you knew it, it was over before you achieved the complete sense of being rested and you were faced with the realisation that another Monday morning had arrived.

Then it all began again, this endless cycle of tedium. The tiresome classes with the droning voices of the professors who themselves had repeated the monotonous lessons over and over and over again for god knows how many years. The incessant chatter of the students in the hallways, the Great Hall and the common rooms gossiping about others and freaking out about their assignments.

_What is wrong with these people?_ Draco demanded testily to himself. It was platform nine and three quarters again – everyone was determined to hang on to the illusion of peace in their blinkered lives. 

For what? 

Two minutes of blissful ignorance before the flash of green hit them between the eyes?

They really did take the phrase 'Out of sight, out of mind' to heart, much to Draco's disgust.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes only to have it fall over them again. 

"You're brooding again," Blaise said as he invited himself to join Draco.

Draco eyed him irritably. Only Blaise had the courage to intrude upon him, yet there were times that Blaise could seemingly do no more than cower like the rest of the plebeians. He briefly wondered if Blaise had some kind of multiple personality disorder. He had never taken the time to get to know his fellow Slytherin to draw a conclusion. Their relationship had hardly moved beyond the boundaries of study partners.

"Ten points for observation."

"Stop, you're turning me on with all these sexy sardonic retorts."

Draco fought the pull of a smile on his lips. "What can I do you for, Zabini?"

"I hate seeing something so beautiful so sad."

"Are you coming on to me?" Draco raised an elegant eyebrow.

"Christ, Draco, have you only just noticed? I've only been doing that for the last five years."

This time, a faint smile made it to his lips. "And they say I'm incorrigible."

"Heavens no!" Blaise placed his hand over his mouth in feigned horror. "They only say that to make you feel better. I'm far more vain, arrogant and despicable."

"Vain, arrogant and despicable, eh? Is that what they say? You haven't been sleeping with the enemy, have you?"

A positively wicked smirked appeared on Blaise's face. "Do you mean figuratively or literally?"

"Oh good god, Zabini. I really don't want to know."

Blaise laughed then sobered a little. He leaned forward to look intently at Draco then said, "You still have those who believe in you, Draco. _You_."

Draco looked perplexedly at him. What in Odin's name did Blaise mean? Before the other boy explained himself, he rose and sashayed off, muttering something about breakfast. Draco continued to study him for a moment longer before rising to catch up with Blaise. For reasons unknown, he felt like company and Blaise was the most tolerable candidate available in his pretentious house. 

Besides, he was getting hungry.

"Can I take your presence by my side as an indication that you want my company?" Blaise asked as Draco fell in step.

"It was you or the others. Just choosing the lesser of two evils." Draco shrugged nonchalantly.

"Ah..." Blaise cried melodramatically, "Oh, to feel so appreciated."

Draco shook his head but made no reply. The pair continued their way to the Great Hall in companionable silence. 

The hallways were littered with people moving to and fro from the hall. A group of young Hufflepuff girls gathered by the door, whispering and giggling, caught Draco's attention. He glanced at them, his face a perfect mask of indifference. They were so unaware of their surroundings, so careless about what lurked around the corner. 

_Oh, it would be so easy,_ he thought contemptuously.

Reaching into his robes, he closed his fingers around the slender wand, savouring the tingling of power running up his arm. He didn't even feel the need to whip it out and flail it around with grandeur or scream out the spell. He didn't even cast his target anything more than a cursory glance. Muttering under his breath, he felt the force of the hex rushing from him to his unwitting victim. 

One of the Hufflepuff girls yelped in surprise and clutched at her ankle. Her friends buzzed around her in shock and concern. Draco thought that in their distraction, he could so easily hex the rest of them too. 

_Fools! Witness the next generation of our people, so wrapped up in the little pleasures of their pathetic lives. It would serve them right if they were cursed into oblivion without being given the chance to retaliate._

Draco glided into the Hall and took his usual seat with Blaise to his left.

"Did you just hex that girl?" Blaise asked reaching for the rack of toast. His voice was so unruffled he might as well just be asking if Draco wanted some toast as well.

"Yes," Draco replied without remorse as he spooned some scrambled eggs onto his plate. 

"Why?" 

"Testing out a theory. What gave me away?" Draco decided to turn the questioning around. Although his original intention wasn't just to test out his stealth, he was now intrigued to know.

"The incantation," Blaise replied, "I was close enough to hear something. I'm sure I would've been none the wiser if I were a mere step ahead."

"I see. Do you think the volume of the incantation has any bearing on the potency of the spell?"

Blaise look up from his buttered toast, his eyebrows furrowed in thought for a moment. "I don't know, but you do tend to witness greater strength when people are shouting the incantations out. Having said that, volume of voice is generally greater when a person is highly emotional. Perhaps it is the emotion that enhances the spell, not volume. We only think it is volume because it's the corporeal manifestation of the emotion that we can sense."

Draco look at Blaise then laughed out loud, surprised that the other boy wasn't interrogating him or giving him grief about hexing that Hufflepuff and pleased that he was indulging Draco with a serious reply.

Blaise looked perplexedly at him. "What?"

"Nothing." Draco smiled. "Do you want to test your theory out?"

"How? It's not like we can summon genuine anger or fear from thin air. Besides we need test subjects. I don't think Snape will like us hexing the other students."

"What Snape doesn't know won't hurt him. And it doesn't have to be anger or fear. Happiness is an emotion."

"You, happy?" Blaise teased, "Good lord, someone take the date down. This is a momentous event!"

"Oh, be silent, you plebeian." Draco kicked him in the shin.

Blaise gasped then scowled. "Physical violence does not become of you, Master Draco. You'll break a fingernail."

"Why did you think I kicked you instead? Dragon hide boots keep you in style and double up as weapons too." Draco tossed his head in mock disdain.

The boys exchanged a glance, matching smiles threatening to curl their lips. Heaven forbid if anyone saw the two top Slytherin icons acting like children. The silent exchange ended rather abruptly and the boys drew their attention back to their breakfasts.

Draco dug into his eggs, his mind replaying his interaction with Blaise, from the moment the other boy had intruded upon him in their common room right up to the meaningful glance they exchanged moments ago. Draco had often worked with Blaise on their schoolwork. After all, his other stalwart companions, Crabbe and Goyle, were by no means academic equals to him. Draco spent more time tutoring them rather than debating about Kelvin Hobb's theory on elemental transmogrification for their latest essay. No, he had Blaise for that kind of stimulating conversation. Yet, even after five years of sharing a dorm with him, Draco realised that he knew very little about Blaise.

Was he really that self-absorbed?

Probably.

Perhaps it was time he rectified that. It was nice having someone to talk to without having to consciously use one-syllable words.

As he nibbled on his breakfast, Draco wondered why he and Blaise had not fostered a closer relationship. He looked around him and his eyes automatically fell upon the Gryffindor trio, more specifically on the pair of boys that made up the trio. From the moment those two had met, their friendship went from strength to strength. Even to an outsider, their loyalty and devotion to each other was undeniable, always presenting a united front, always ready to protect the pack. 

A pang of jealousy gripped Draco. _Bloody Gryffindors,_ he thought. _That is the fundamental difference between Gryffindors and Slytherins, they are all about the need of the many, we are about the need of the one._

_We gather underlings; they make allies. We demand obedience; they garner trust. We are masters; they are captains. But is one way really better than the other? Holding true to the Slytherin ethos has not failed me._

When Draco has finished his musing, he realised that Blaise had left the Hall. He wondered if he should be annoyed that the other boy had just upped and left without word, or if he had any cause to be. They were never one to exchange mindless pleasantries in the past, so why were his knickers threatening to get into a right twist?

Rising from his seat, Draco scowled at himself. There was no more denying that he was changing his outlook about a lot of things. He just wasn't sure if he liked it or if he wanted it at all. There was a certain comfort about being stuck in a rut. It offered security and stability if nothing else. 

Casting his doubts and apprehension aside, he trudged back to his common room to begin on the mountain of homework that was due. At least one thing had remained the same – the teachers' penchant of overloading them with work on their first week back.


	3. Chapter Two – Silent Spells

The late October air was cool and crisp. Though the sky was hardly clear or blue, the sun had periodically forced its way through the clouds to cast a brilliant, welcome burst of warmth. The Quidditch stands were full, as always, all eager for the first game of the year.

The game was, lamentably, Slytherin against Hufflepuff. Gryffindor had pulled out of the first game of the season pleading injury had incapacitated a member of their team. Draco knew it wasn't Potter nor Weasley, seeing he had seen them in class, but he didn't care enough to find out who it was.

Notwithstanding, it had very little bearing for Draco. For the first time in four years, Draco was seated in the stands instead of mounting a broom on the pitch during a Slytherin match. While his love for Quidditch would never wane, Draco no longer relished a position with the team. It seemed too trivial and in some unknown sense of rebellion, he had resigned his commission simply to prove that he did not need that kind of vaunted glory anymore.

Urquhart, the new Slytherin Captain, didn't seem too heartbroken to see Draco go. Thus Draco joined the rest of the masses crammed into the Quidditch stands watching a mediocre game.

While Hufflepuff's main force might not have been a pushover for the Slytherin team, their Seeker surely was. At least she would've been if Draco had been playing opposite her. She was a slight girl in the third year and she looked absolutely terrified. Draco had heard that she was a superb flier, and she had the perfect build for a Seeker. However, this was also her first competitive game, and the Slytherin team's general reputation was causing the Hufflepuff Seeker some distress.

Not for the first time she had to duck a stray Bludger.

As he watched the players, Draco watched the spectators as well. They were all absorbed in the game; hanging on to every word the commentator was spewing. He noted that three quarters of the crowd supported Hufflepuff and knew that the other two supposedly neutral houses waved yellow banners simply because they felt that green would actually taint their souls.

Were they, Slytherins, really that hated?

Draco's attention drifted around the pitch, his eye searching for the familiar golden ball. He spotted what he was looking for before the Seekers did. It was the barest of glints, the shiny hide of the ball catching a fleeting sunbeam, but it was enough to attract his well-honed senses.

Silently, he willed the Slytherin Seeker to give chase. Fortunately, the boy wasn't as preoccupied or intimidated by the opposing team as his counterpart to notice the Snitch himself. He took off in a rush of green and silver.

Draco followed his progress closely, remembering the rush of the chase. His focus would narrow down to the golden Snitch and the rest of the world would go by him in a blur, quite literally too. He knew then that he and the Snitch would become the nexus of attention. While his counterpart may not have proved a challenge, the Snitch certainly wasn't giving him any quarters despite of his reputation. The Snitch wouldn't care about the weight of his family's name or how volatile his temper was, it wouldn't care about how cunning or how good a flier Draco was. It had only one concern and it put all its effort into fulfilling that aim – that was to evade capture.

A strange surge of respect blossomed in Draco's chest as he watched his replacement close his fingers around the fluttering ball. The Slytherin stands erupted in cheers, but Draco didn't listen. He looked contemplatively at this single-minded creature, held aloft by its captor, wondering if they, humans, had the perseverance and devotion to work so tirelessly, ignoring all distractions, to achieve a goal, be it to evade capture or to survive another day or to thwart the malevolent efforts of a megalomaniac.

With all that was transpiring beyond the walls of Hogwarts, Draco certainly hoped some of them did.

The victory celebrations were in full swing when Bole, yet again, regaled the party revellers with the tale of how he had manage to unseat the Hufflepuff Keeper. Draco wondered why his house was in such a great mood. Beating Hufflepuff was no victory. It was simply routine; if it were Gryffindor... 

Draco rose and headed out. Nobody particularly cared whether he was there or not. After all he no longer held the prestigious position of Slytherin Seeker. Funnily enough, Draco didn't mind that at all.

The hallways were mostly empty. Only the occasional student was seen scurrying from common rooms to the library or to the teachers' offices. Draco wandered somewhat aimlessly; it was something that he seemed to have taken too. Most of the time, he would head towards the hallways by the courtyards relishing the fresh air and the open sky peaking through the turrets and rooftops of the castle.

His mind obviously elsewhere Draco rounded a corner and almost walked into someone.

"Mister Malfoy, we must stop meeting like this, people will talk," Taira drawled her voice tinted with sarcasm.

She was dressed in a black sleeveless top and a pair of loose cotton trousers. Short black gloves embraced her arms and a towel was slung over the right shoulder. Her hair was tied back in a tight braid. It looked to Draco that she had just been exercising, quite strenuously judging by the pink tinge on her cheeks and her slight breathlessness. 

It looked odd, none of his other teachers had given any indication that they even knew what the word 'exercise' meant much less practiced it.

"Professor Taira." Draco bowed elegantly. "Please do excuse me, I can't help but be swept off my feet in your presence."

Taira smirked. "They weren't kidding about your silver tongue, were they? I wonder – is it forked too?"

A lecherous retort almost spilled from Draco's lips, but common sense made him bite it back, reminding himself that she was a professor. So instead he purred, "All lies, Professor. I'm a model student."

"Indeed, a model Slytherin student." She looked at him appraisingly. "Tell me, Mister Malfoy, are you doing rounds again?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"What I believe should not be important to you. It is what you believe that is of your concern," she replied somewhat enigmatically then stepped around Draco to continue on her way. "Don't stay up, Mister Malfoy, curfew still applies to dedicated Prefects like yourself. Good night."

"Good night, Professor," Draco replied, turned around and headed back to his dormitory.

Taira was fast becoming his favoured professor. In the few months of lessons, Taira had proven herself to be an apt teacher. She knew her work and by the sounds of it she had empirical knowledge in using them as well. Not only was she well versed in the subject, she delivered it in a manner that was engaging and interesting. Unlike Binns, who would do no more than drone at them, Taira always encouraged active participation. She made assignments interesting. She was fair – penalising and awarding Gryffindors and Slytherins alike. She reminded him much of the last competent professor they had back in their third year.

Draco was thankful that she did not hold a grudge nor keep a mental record of past transactions as long as the sentence was served. He certainly wouldn't like to stay in her bad books.

~*~

"I hate this. Did I mention that I'm hating this?" Draco grumbled, tossing his quill down.

"Strangely enough, yes," Blaise replied. "Besides you're only hating this because, for a change, you actually have to make the effort to learn it. Even nerdy geniuses like you have their limits."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear you call me nerdy because bloodshed in the library is just sacrilegious." Draco scowled.

Blaise chuckled. "You're just being lazy."

"Of course I'm lazy. All my life I've had servants and sycophants waiting on me hand and foot. I am a Malfoy; people should do everything for me. Lessons should be made easy!"

"Then you'll complain it's too easy and boring. Stop complaining so loudly, you'll get us thrown out of the library."

"You have no heart, Zabini. Can you not show compassion for a man in distress?"

"If I had a heart, you'd spend all your time trying to break it instead of learning these stupid Arithmancy formulae. You should consider yourself lucky I'm as much an unfeeling bastard as you."

"Always with the bloody flattery."

"If you ladies have finished bitching, can we please get back to the assignment?" Pansy huffed indignantly. "Why I put up with you two is a mystery."

Blaise flashed her a winning smile. "Because we are the shining light in your dreary life, you love us and you can't bear to spend your time away from us."

"Oh, shut up." She scowled. "I study with you two because we have the same sodding classes, and you've both got a trifle more than two brain cells to rub together."

"More flattery?" Draco smirked. "Can my already over-inflated ego take any more of this?"

Pansy glowered at him. "Shut up, shut up! It's due tomorrow and I still have that Potions essay to finish!"

"I thought you finished your essay," Blaise said.

"I did, but then I found some reference material on Galen Forseti and I want to put that in. His work on healing potions is remarkable."

"Aren't we the enthusiast? You've already written eight inches more than required."

"If it's worth doing, then it's got to be done properly," Pansy replied with an indignant toss of her head. "Can we get back to this stupid question? I want to go to sleep sometime tonight!"

"Sleep's overrated," Blaise said, drawing his attention back to his text, then muttered, "Unless you're not doing it alone."

Draco sighed impatiently. "Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist," he said placating Pansy as they returned their attention in trying to unravel and understand their latest Arithmancy assignment.

They worked on it for the next hours, debating, dissecting, analysing and while they made progress they didn't get to the finishing line. They were stuck on one particularly difficult formula and in all honesty, all three of them were probably too tired to make any headway on it. 

Pansy had folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them. Blaise was still furiously scribbling and scratching out his ideas. Draco merely sat back in his chair and surveyed the library. Most of the students in there were Year Five and above, seeing that it was late and only those years were often inundated with work.

They were all clustered in groups of twos and threes, heads bent over their books. Draco noted a multitude of blues, yellows and reds, but the only group of Slytherins was his own. It was rather disheartening to see such poignant evidence that Slytherins were the outcastes in every aspect of Hogwarts.

Then again, they probably had no one else to blame but themselves.

As he watched, his eyes fell upon a familiar trio – the counterpart to his own group. They were almost a mirror image of what Draco's group were currently doing. Weasley was furiously scribbling like he was rushing to complete an assignment, Granger looked like she had fallen asleep, she was probably there just to help the boys on their work and Potter was simply surveying the library with an indifference that was nearly palpable.

From their brief altercation outside Taira's classroom onwards, Draco had noted how increasingly aloof Potter had become. It was almost like he had lost the will to live and was simply going through the motions. Not that Draco really cared what was bothering Potter, it just made their adversarial exchanges a little bland. 

Like the match against Hufflepuff, it was no fun when your opponent wasn't challenging. Thus, rather than wasting time baiting an unresponsive Potter, Draco had diverted his energy to something else.

He watched the trio for a moment longer before muttering, "She would know."

"What?" Blaise said distractedly.

"Granger," Draco continued, gesturing to where she was seated. "She would know the answer to the question."

"And?" Blaise asked.

"We should ask her."

Blaise looked enquiringly at him. Pansy's head snapped up immediately and she goggled at him, her mouth agape. 

"All these formulae must've addled your brains," she said.

"Maybe, but I'm bored. I want to get this over and done with and I don't want to get a lousy mark on this stupid paper because we were too proud to ask for help."

"I'm not disagreeing about asking for help." Pansy shook her head. "Just not from her."

"Why not?" Draco asked.

Pansy nearly screamed at him. "Are you kidding? She is to me what Potter is to you!"

"Draco has a point, you know." Blaise pursed his lips thoughtfully. "She is the top student in the class. It's too late to go to Vector now."

"There must be someone else we can ask," Pansy stated stubbornly.

"Oh, you mean like the second in the class?" Blaise asked sarcastically, "Well, Pansy, he's sitting over here and he hasn't a clue either! We can't figure the last one out, we need help and we need it now."

"She probably couldn't either," Pansy continued

Blaise shrugged. "If she couldn't then at least we know we aren't all that thick and we never stood a chance."

Draco paid them scant attention. When they had started arguing, Potter had caught Draco's eyes and they were engaging in their usual silent battle of wills. Potter's face was still as impassive as ever, but his eyes bore a hint of irritation and the familiar sense of antipathy that Draco knew all too well. A smirk lifted the corners of his lips, knowing very well that particular smirk always got under Potter's skin.

They could've been glaring at each other for hours, for all Draco knew or cared. Their mute duel was only interrupted by Granger rising from her seat and stalking towards Draco's own table. Blaise and Pansy stopped arguing, watching in mild surprise at her approach.

"Damn, Draco, what did you do? Summon her over with your sheer force of will?" Blaise asked.

"I live to serve." Draco smiled sagely even though he wondered why she, and not Potter, was the one coming over. It was cloyingly sweet yet pathetic that poor little Potter needed his Mudblood girl to defend his virtue. Was Potter so aloof that he couldn't even be bothered to come over and pick a fight with his favourite rival?

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Granger snapped when she arrived. 

"Funny you should ask," Blaise replied smoothly. "We were wondering what you thought of question six in our Arithmancy assignment."

"What?" she said in surprise, her eyes moving from Draco to Blaise.

"Question six, the Arithmancy assignment due tomorrow, what did you think of it?" Blaise repeated himself clearly. It had to be said that Blaise was a master in diplomacy if employing it would be advantageous. Draco was impressed and grateful that he was the one asking, knowing that Granger undoubtedly have preferred to rip her own arm off and flog herself with the soggy end than help the contemptible Draco Malfoy.

Granger looked startled for another minute before saying, sounding like she was torn between helping Slytherins and showing off that she had solved the puzzle when they clearly had not, "It's a trick question. It doesn't give you enough information to calculate what it asks for."

"Marvellous!" Blaise piped out then leaned toward Granger with a decidedly appreciative look. "Your assistance has been invaluable, Granger, and a Slytherin always repays his debt," he finished lecherously.

The murderous look clouded Granger's expression. "You are despicable!"

"What?" Blaise exclaimed innocently as she stormed back to her friends.

Both Draco and Pansy looked like they were fit to burst, stifling their laughter. 

"You certainly have a way with the ladies, eh?" Pansy giggled.

Blaise sighed dramatically. "Oh, what is the use of all that charm when I can't even garner your favour, dear Miss Parkinson?"

"Shut up, Zabini," she snapped playfully as she gathered her things. "I'm going to bed."

"Is that an invitation?" Blaise asked suggestively.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Hell, no! I'm still holding the torch for Draco."

"For the love of all things serpentine, please leave me out of your depraved, twisted foreplay," Draco groaned as he began packing his books away. 

Blaise had been flirting shamelessly with Pansy for the better part of a year now and Draco couldn't quite decide if he was being serious about it. Pansy entertained him occasionally, playing along, but most of the time she would use Draco as a means to fob Blaise off. Draco didn't mind just as long as Pansy understood that he wasn't going to be defending any honour and virtue on her behalf.

Where academics were concerned, she was useful to him, and he was useful to her in terms of elevating her own social standing. All in all, they had a partnership that worked. If Blaise had been the more popular one, Draco would have no doubt that she would've lapped up all that flirting like bees to honey.

From the corner of his eye he watched the Gryffindor trio again; Granger was certainly relaying the events that transpired at the Slytherin table. She looked quite mad.

As they made their way out of the library, an idea occurred to him and he tugged at Blaise's sleeve then leaned in to whisper, "Are you feeling happy?"

"What?" Blaise whispered back.

"Perhaps it's a good time to test out that theory of yours if you're feeling happy?"

"In the library? You're trying to get me expelled, aren't you?"

"The whole point of this experiment is subterfuge. If you get caught, it means we've failed anyway."

"That's true. Who am I supposed to be hexing?"

"Not quite a hex but after your lewd innuendo, don't you think Granger needs a little cheering up?" Draco smirked evilly.

Blaise laughed then transferred the books from his right arm into his left and reached for his wand in his robes. Deciding that they looked too conspicuous just standing there, Draco knelt down under the pretence of tying his lace. The sudden burst of laughter told Draco Blaise had been successful and he had not heard the incantation. Judging by the nigh-hysterical way Granger was cackling, Blaise's theory about emotion, and not volume, powering the spell was quite true.

"Blimey, it worked!" Blaise grinned.

"You can pat yourself on the back when we get back to the dungeons," he said as he rose.

" _Malfoy!_ " Potter's voice tore through the library as he pelted towards Draco. "You cowardly, underhanded arsehole!" Potter slammed into him and the both of them went sprawling across the floor.

In hindsight, Draco thought that they perhaps should've waited for a more opportune moment to conduct the experiment. He was sure that Potter didn't actually know where the spell originated but Draco was the most likely person to be accused even if he was truly innocent.

Straddling Draco, Potter drew his arm back to take a swing at him. Anticipating the attack, Draco lifted his arm to block. Potter tried again, but Draco had twisted around to unseat the Gryffindor. Draco rolled out of the way and scrambled to his feet.

By that time, Potter had also risen to his feet and was launching a fresh wave of attacks on Draco. Draco blocked and side-stepped as much as he could and counter-attacked where he couldn't. Hand-to-hand brawling was not his style. He was more adept with a sword in his hand. Still, wasn't Draco complaining that Potter had not been much of a challenge lately? If the Gryffindor wanted a fist-fight then he got one. At least this time it was one on one.

It had to be said there was a certain primal satisfaction in feeling your fist connect with your opponents' soft yielding flesh.

Draco was surprised by the speed and grace with which Potter was moving. He wasn't simply throwing random punches and kicks at Draco like he had last year; he was fighting with a certain amount of calculated moves. Did Potter actually have training?

Someone eventually broke the fight up after Draco had received a number of hits and landing a few of his own. Draco had expected Madam Pince to have hexed them with a full body bind or something similar, but it was Taira who had physically stepped in to stop them, and she had done it in a rather humiliating fashion.

She had managed to step between them and pinched their ears. They winced painfully and were eventually forced to kneel by her unyielding grip.

"Will you both behave if I let you go?" she asked.

Potter nodded immediately, his face contorted with extreme discomfort. Draco acquiesced as well; feeling his earlobe burning, not to mention his pride shattering.

"Mister Malfoy, you will go promptly to the hospital wing and remain there until I join you." She turned to Weasley and Granger, who was still giggling, "Mister Weasley, please escort Miss Granger back to your common room. Mister Potter, you're with me."

The crowd dispersed and those with orders scrambled to follow them. 

Draco ached and throbbed in several places, even though he had quite enjoyed the somewhat barbaric tussle he just shared with Potter. It was a good way to vent his pent up frustrations if nothing else.

Blaise apologised and pretty much voiced what Draco had thought – they needed to pick more suitable times and places to do their little experiments.

Madam Pomfrey healed his bruises with a negligent wave of her wand then summarily forced a foul tasting potion down him. Draco suspected that the potion did nothing save to put students off from needing to visit her.

Approximately thirty minutes later, Taira emerged with Potter, who was looking suitably chastised. He gave Draco a murderous glared then flopped himself onto a bed.

Taira gestured imperially to Draco, who rose without comment and followed her. She led him to the teachers' lounge, and he was sure that they were going to see Snape.

While Snape wouldn't have actually begrudged him for punching Potter in the face, he wouldn't have approved of him brawling in the library like a thug. Even though he wasn't the one who had thrown the first punch but he had still retaliated, hence Draco envisioned house points lost.

Snape was seated in the lounge, as was McGonagall. When Taira joined them, they were looking very much like a selected panel of Wizengamot ready to sentence him.

"Mister Malfoy." Snape narrowed his eyes at Draco. "Potter has accused you of hexing Miss Granger in the library. Is that true?"

"No, sir," Draco replied truthfully.

"You may tell us your version of events," Taira said.

"Blaise and I were on our way back when Potter came howling insults at me and decided to indulge in some mindless show of testosterone."

"You can relay your tale without embellishments, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall added. "We're not here to grade you on creativity."

"Yes, Professor." Draco dipped his head. "He knocked me over then tried to punch me. I was only fighting in self-defence."

"And you don't know why Mister Potter attacked you?" McGonagall asked.

"Does Potter need any legitimate reason to take a swipe at me?" he replied rather evasively.

The professors exchanged aggrieved looks. As Taira said his and Potter's rivalry was legendary. After five years the veteran teachers had come to know that no amount of detentions and penalty of house points were going to stop those two from head butting.

Notwithstanding, they always felt that they needed to punish Draco and Potter anyway. Perhaps to make an example out of them and certainly to make clear that they were not above and beyond the rules. At least not always.

"Despite your testimony of innocence, Mister Malfoy," McGonagall eventually said, "You will not go unpunished. You are a prefect, and that boorish behaviour was unbecoming of your station. You will serve detention and ten points will be taken from Slytherin."

"Yes, Professor." Draco bowed again.

Snape then said, "Professor Taira will deliver the details of your detention to you before the end of tomorrow. You may return to your dorm now."

"Thank you, Professors." Draco turned on his heels and fled as dignified as he could. He didn't mind losing a measly ten points, but he was a little miffed that he had detention. Points lost were a house thing; it didn't go on the student's permanent records, detention, on the other hand, did. So far he had only had one soul-scarring detention in the confounded Forbidden Forest way back in the first year and another after the fiasco of masquerading a Dementor. He had been determined since then, by hook or by crook, to never have to serve another. 

It seemed that Potter had put another blemish on his nigh-perfect record yet again. 

_Bloody Gryffindors!_

~*~

The handsome eagle owl swooped majestically down from the rafters towards Draco. It was dinner time, and he was mildly surprised to see post arrive at that hour. Only urgent messages were delivered this late in the day. The seal on the back of the envelope bore the Malfoy crest. It could only be from his mother.

Draco looked impassively at the flamboyant script on the front that said his name. He knew instinctively what the letter would say – news of his father's closed trial, and nothing more.

When he was younger his mother would often send care packages every few weeks. He had always believed that it was a gesture of affection on his mother's part. But in the last year he learned that was not in fact she who did it at all. She simply left instructions to the house elves to send those packages every so often, and she only did it because it was all part and parcel of her duty as mother and wife. Once he realised that it was no more than an empty gesture, he had rescinded the elves' instructions.

His mother didn't even know that the packages had stopped.

Narcissa Malfoy simply did not have a single maternal bone in her, and Draco was a product of duty. She went through the motions of being a good mother, as she was taught by her own. She just could not put the true motherly love behind her actions even if she felt that Draco was a part of her.

Draco was thankful that he was old enough to understand when he realised that. He could not deny that a part of him did resent it, but at least he was neither ill-treated nor neglected, and all throughout his childhood he did have the illusion that his mother loved him.

Before the shocking revelation, he could still see his mother as his confidante and comfort, but since then he had begun isolating himself from her. She didn't seem to mind, in fact, it felt almost like it was the moment she was waiting for – her chick had finally left the roost, now she could get on with her life. Narcissa had ambitions and dreams of her own.

"Draco?" Pansy's voice drew him out of his reverie. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he said curtly then rose from his seat, dinner left untouched, his mother's letter in his hand. He said no more to his housemates and returned to his dormitory where he could read his letter in relative privacy.

The trial of those alleged Death Eaters captured in the Department of Mysteries debacle had been going on for months, dredging every last scrap of evidence no matter how trivial or spurious. Old witnesses were recalled to testify again, and previous transgressions were once again brought up. A guilty verdict was almost certain; there were too many damning evidence against his father, and those of Goyle and Nott as well. 

He spared his housemates a fleeting thought, wondering how they were coping with it and why he hadn't become closer to them because of their solidarity in this matter.

Maybe because Draco thought the whole Dark Lord thing was becoming a farce. Not that he would share that thought with anyone.

_Dear Draco,_ the letter began.

_I am certain you have guessed the purpose of this letter and no doubt the verdict of the charges against your father. I wanted you to know before the vultures at the tabloids make a fanfare out of it tomorrow morning._

_He has been found guilty as have all his cohorts captured that same night._

_While all of them have been sentenced to life imprisonment at Azkaban, your father's barristers has somehow negotiated an alternative sentence for him. I do not have the details of how that was possible, and, in all honesty, it would be better that neither you nor I know._

_Instead of Azkaban, he has been exiled from the United Kingdom and will be held under house arrest in an undisclosed location._

Draco blinked and read the line sentence again. Trust Lucius Malfoy to slither his way out of Azkaban. Did the foolish Wizengamot actually believe that he would be harmless and powerless if he was sent to another country? Lucius Malfoy had a long arm, a very long arm. 

_Exile notwithstanding, I want to reassure you that our family is not yet beaten. Your father may have led the Malfoys for many years, but that does not mean I am without my own influence. Your future is still secure, your trust fund intact. Focus on your studies and that is all you have to concern yourself with. When you graduate from Hogwarts, all that is rightly yours will be waiting for you._

_With love,  
Mother._

Draco read the letter again, the little boy in him still trying to read between the lines for any hint of affection from his mother. She didn't even seem upset about her own husband being sent away. He knew that his parents were arranged to marry but surely after nearly twenty years of marriage she would've had some feelings for him?

At that point he wasn't so sure. The revelation that his mother was just as ruthless and ambitious as his father chilled him somewhat. If he really put some logical thought into it, he probably wouldn't have been so surprised. Narcissa was of the most ancient and noble house of Black after all, and sister to none other than Voldemort's current right hand.

Draco folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. He took out a fresh parchment and scribbled a short note on the bedside table, acknowledging the receipt and the contents, nothing more. Their common blood would keep them bonded, but at that moment Draco did not feel he had anything else to offer. 

When he sat up, Draco was startled by the presence of a house-elf by his bed. He blinked at the elf for a moment before exclaiming.

"Dobby!"

The elf looked at him somewhat nervously then bowed awkwardly. "Dobby is surprised Master Draco remember Dobby."

Draco smirked. "How could I forget? Mother was most displeased with Father when he dismissed you without consulting her. She remained vexed until a satisfactory replacement was trained. Father was in the proverbial dog house, well, at least as much as a man like him could be."

"Mistress valued Dobby?" the elf asked his eyes wide in surprise.

"Yes, I believe so. Why did Father did dismiss you?"

It was the elf's turn to smirk. "Master was tricked."

Draco grew intrigued. "Tricked? You tricked father in to releasing you?"

"Oh, no, no. Dobby cannot, Dobby was still servant and cannot trick Master. Harry Potter freed Dobby."

Grey eyes widened in surprise and mouth fell agape. He did not just hear that Harry Potter tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing one of his own slaves. He now had a clearer understanding about why his father had begun to hate Potter with such a passion. It wasn't only about Potter defeating the Dark Lord, Potter made a fool out of Lucius, and Lucius wanted revenge.

"It had to be him, didn't it?" Draco snorted ironically then muttered, "Harry goddamned Potter, champion of humanity and liberator of the down trodden elves."

"Master Draco will not speak ill of Harry Potter!" Dobby suddenly squeaked angrily. "Harry Potter is great wizard."

"Oh, I'm sure he is," Draco replied coldly, not appreciating a mere house-elf, freed or not, reprimanding him. Dobby had served the Malfoys long enough to recognise the dangerous glint in Draco's eye. The elf had enough sense in him to shy away a little and look at his mismatched socks instead. 

"Why are you here anyway, Dobby? Surely not to reminisce about our happy times in Malfoy Manor?" Draco continued, seemingly placated by the fact that the elf still knew his place as a servant.

Dobby bowed again, suddenly submissive and embarrassed that he had neglected his duty. "Dobby has message from Professor Taira." He handed a folded note over

"Thank you," Draco said then added, "Dobby, you will take this to the Owlery and have it sent to my mother."

"Yes, Master Draco," the elf said automatically then promptly disappeared. Draco briefly wondered why Dobby was still calling him 'Master'; perhaps old habits did die hard.

He unfolded Taira's note, read it then groaned. He had almost forgotten about his detention. Taira had decided that he should serve it the next night at nine.

_Wonderful,_ Draco thought bitterly.


	4. Chapter Three – Reaping the Harvest We Sowed

The first tendrils of a magical dawn clawed their way into the dorm. Being underwater, nature's dawn never did reach the Slytherin rooms, but a genius several hundred years ago decided the best way to let the students know that morning was here was to simulate sunlight in synchrony to the real one.

Draco turned his face from the window. He wasn't asleep; in fact, he had hardly slept a wink but still did not want to rise to face the day. Judging by the snores and even breathing from his dorm mates, they did not receive an early warning from their family about the impending, no doubt sensationalised, headlines about their fathers. Either that or they didn't care.

Friday was normally a day he looked forward to. He had double Potions, double Defence Against the Dark Arts and a study period at the end of the day, thus effectively his weekend began soon after lunch. That Friday, however, he just wanted to stay in bed. Preferably until the whole Dark Lord fiasco blew over. 

_Bloody Potter,_ Draco thought savagely, _Couldn't you have sodding saved the world by now?_

Normally, his Slytherin and Malfoy pride would not allow him to even imply any kind of weakness, but he was beyond caring. Let them talk, let them whisper behind their hands and point their fingers. They could judge him by his father's actions for all he cared. Draco knew he was not a mere appendage of Lucius Malfoy. He was he was own man. 

He had decided that last night, lying awake in his darkened dorm; he had decided that he would be judged by his own merits. 

A few minutes passed, perhaps even half an hour, and Nott's klaxon of an alarm clock rang, rattling everything in the room. Nott fumbled to turn it off. After five years of sharing a room, no one else had bothered with an alarm clock. Draco suspected that Nott's woke everyone in the dungeon.

The others stirred, rose and began gathering their toiletries fuzzily. Draco sat up in bed and watched them, especially Nott and Goyle. They were seemingly blissfully unaware that they had become sons of convicted and sentenced Death Eaters. In fact, they had seemed unconcerned that their fathers were standing trial all this time. 

Were they confident that their fathers would be acquitted, or were they just not bright enough to realise the severity of situation?

Either way, Draco pitied them. He also knew that when the owls came flocking in at breakfast they were going to be looking at him to lead them to some kind of misguided glory. 

That was another thing that Draco had stayed up all night thinking about.

"Malfoy?" Blaise's voice drew him away from his musing. "You look like shit." 

"Good morning to you too, Zabini," Draco snapped.

Blaise laughed. "Well, dark circles under the eyes really show on your pallor."

"Stop, you're making me blush with all your flattery."

Once the others had left the dorm for the bathroom, Blaise walked over to Draco's bed and leaned on one of the posts. "That letter from your mother kept you up all night?"

Draco cast him a wary glance.

"Pansy told me she saw the Malfoy seal on the letter," Blaise added.

"Pansy is very nosey."

"Well, duh." Blaise rolled his eyes. 

Draco made no reply, seemingly content in sitting on the edge of his bed examining his toes. He could feel Blaise's eyes on him. They said nothing for a few moments. Blaise, taking that as a hint that Draco didn't want to talk about it, walked back to his trunk and picked up his own toiletries.

"They've been convicted, Blaise," Draco finally said just as Blaise reached the door. "All of them. It'll hit the newsstands this morning, and breakfast is going to be another huge circus where we're the main attraction."

Blaise turned and gave Draco a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry to hear that. I can't imagine how hard it's going to be to face the judgemental, gossip-mongering horde. But you are strong, Draco. You'll ride this wave of media sewerage out and walk away smelling like roses. It's the others I'm worried about."

"Is that a hint that _I_ should be looking after them?" Draco asked, somewhat irritated by that implication.

Blaise chuckled. "Did I even have to hint? I've known you for five years Draco. I daresay I know how you would react in certain situations. You may feel a little grumpy about it, but your sense of duty won't allow you to abandon them. You had better make yourself presentable. Remember – image is everything!" He winked then left the dorm for the bathroom.

Draco sat for a few more moments thinking about what Blaise had said before rising to join his fellow dorm mates in the bathrooms.

After all, image _was_ everything.

~*~

Draco decided that he was going to be fashionably late. That didn't leave him much time to eat before his first class, but in all honesty he didn't really feel like eating anyway. He had wanted Crabbe and Goyle to be late with him, but god help the man who stood in the way of their meals. Blaise and Pansy, however, had lingered with him. He wondered why – neither one of their fathers had been caught up in this fiasco. Nevertheless, he appreciated their show of support, even if he didn't voice it. 

As expected, the Hall was buzzing with excited conversation – no doubt thrilled that homicidal Death Eater maniacs had been put away. Three quarters of the student population had been staring at the Slytherin table, mostly at fellow students whose fathers had been named in the _Daily Prophet_ , but all heads swivelled to the trio when they strode in.

They strolled into the Hall, each of them wearing a mantle of confidence and charisma. Draco schooled his expression into one of cool indifference. He would naturally be the main attraction; not only because his father had been portrayed as an upstanding member of society; Lucius was not even considered a Death Eater by the Ministry during the Dark Lord's first reign. Additionally, there wasn't a student in Hogwarts that didn't know Draco by reputation. While Potter was famous among the student body, Draco had achieved infamy of an equal degree. 

Grey eyes swept the room in an icy glare that held a silent challenge. Most had shied away from that challenge, but as expected a pair of piercing green eyes accepted it and glared back. In part, Draco was grateful for that. He had a focus, and he was able to cut the rest of the world out, ignoring their plebeian existence. 

Potter's eyes said, _"Justice is served."_

Draco's replied, _"Indeed."_

Looking slightly baffled for a moment, Potter's glare seemed to falter. Draco guessed that the Gryffindor was looking for anger and fury, but was disappointed to find only apathy and determination not to let the situation drown him. The barest hint of a smirk lifted one corner of Draco's lips just before he broke eye contact. He moved to the Slytherin table to find Goyle looking at him expectantly.

He nodded to him then Nott and Crabbe and took his seat, steadily ignoring everything around him. He asked Pansy to pass him the flagon of pumpkin juice then began a conversation with Blaise about the Potions chapter they were to read up for that day's lessons.

Confusion was clearly etched on Crabbe and Goyle's faces, but at least they were smart enough not to ask Draco what he thought and what he was going to do about the _Daily Prophet_ headlines. Draco didn't even know what it said, and he didn't want to know. All he wanted to do was carry on like nothing had changed. It was the best façade he could use – if the masses could not goad an adverse reaction out of him, they would soon tire of the story.

Once he had finished his pumpkin juice, Draco rose and swept out of the hall regally. Pansy and Blaise followed without invitation. The mutterings and whispering had not ceased during his short breakfast, but it increased once they had left the Hall. They moved silently to their first class – Potions.

Snape was already in the classroom when they arrived, some ten minutes early. He looked at them passively, but his eyes clearly showed concern. Draco noticed a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on Snape's desk. Snape looked like he was struggling with how to offer his sympathies and perhaps even a shoulder to cry on if Draco needed it. 

"Good morning, Professor," Draco said, sparing the Potions Master of having to make the first move. "I hear there's interesting news in the papers today."

Snape raised his eyebrows at the boy. "You have not read the papers?"

"No." Draco shook his head. "I have a more reliable source of current affairs."

"I see." Snape smirked then picked up newspaper and laid it in front of Draco. "I must admit the _Daily Prophet_ is hardly reputable these days. Nevertheless, you should examine what the masses are reading, whether you believe it to be true or not. Knowing what your ... adversaries know, will give you a greater understanding of them and an edge to besting them."

"Yes, Professor."

The classroom door swung open and the rest of the class filed in, most of who had finally stopped muttering at Draco, more than likely due to the fact that Snape would not appreciate the foolishness. Draco was thankful that at least for one lesson he wouldn't have to hear the annoying whispers buzzing around him.

~*~

The day felt thankfully short. Ignoring people was a skill he had honed well, and it was masterfully employed that day. Eventually Crabbe and Goyle caught on, and they too started to act like nothing had changed. It confused the others and more gossips were being manufactured about their evident heartlessness and impiety towards their fathers. 

"Let them talk," Draco had said, even if he did find the incessant hisses annoying, "Who are they to us that we need to justify our actions?"

Yes, appeal to the arrogant Slytherin pride; they would understand that better than anything. After all, Slytherins had always considered themselves to be above all others.

As the evening drew near, he began to feel incredibly tetchy. All the unwanted attention he was getting was making him irritable. Before the _Prophet's_ headlines, people would normally, perhaps subconsciously, keep their distance like he was a wrathful deity not to be disturbed by humanity, which suited him fine. That day, everyone seemed to have some inexplicable desire to give him a thorough eyeballing as if he had sprouted horns overnight. Draco was a very visible icon. After all, he was the Seeker in his Quidditch team and a prefect. Yet everyone was scrambling over each other to stare like they had never seen him before. 

It was _very_ annoying. 

Not only did he have to content with the nobodies milling around him, his own housemates were constantly seeking him out. Blaise was right. They didn't know how to cope with this, and they were indeed looking to him, the dazzling Draco Malfoy to lead them through this mess. Six months ago, Draco might've enjoyed the attention and the hero-worship, but no longer.

On top of that, he hadn't forgotten he had detention to serve with Taira. Nor had he forgotten he had gotten that detention because of Potter. Taira made no indication that that day's headlines had changed her perception of him. Potter, on the other hand, was totally confused that Draco had neither risen to any of his baits nor tried to blame the Gryffindor like he did when Lucius was initially arrested.

Eight o'clock arrived and Draco knocked on Taira's office door. She invited him in. To Draco's horror, Potter was in there as well. Detention was bad enough; detention with Potter was just the bloody topping on his dessert of bad days.

"Follow me, gentlemen," Taira said without preamble.

Potter rose obediently and fell in step with her. As he passed Draco, the Slytherin whispered, "If we end up in the Forbidden Forest, so help me, god, I will make you sing soprano."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter snapped back. "Do you think I want to spend the evening with you either?"

"At least you'll be with a charming, intelligent and gorgeous individual, which is more than I can say for myself."

Potter groaned. "Why hasn't your head exploded from that over-inflated ego of yours?"

"It's not ego, it's the truth."

"This is your damned fault."

"Says the barbarian who tackled me to the ground."

"You hexed Hermione, you cowardly egotistical prick!" Potter snarled.

"I did no such thing, you paranoid boorish plebeian," Draco retorted.

"Ahhh, I'm delighted to see you gentlemen getting along." Taira smirked. She was standing next to a wall with a picture of a fruit bowl hanging on it. When she brushed the pear in the picture lightly, it shuddered and a door sprang open.

"You are both to wash and dry all the dirty dishes in there. And you will do it without magic." She held her hand out, palm facing up. "Wands, please."

Draco gaped at her in horror. Surely she did not mean for him to do such a lowbrow task? 

When they did not willingly give up their wands, Taira Summoned them from the boys' pockets.

"All the house elves have been instructed to do no more than answer questions you might have about the chore. They will not be helping you clean no matter how you plead or intimidate them. For every dish you break, five points will be taken from both your houses. For every dish you do not clean and dry satisfactorily, ten points will be taken from both your houses. I suggest you work as a team to tackle this, or you'll be here all night. Do not think to shirk this task, I will find out and be more than willing to deliver a harsher punishment."

She flashed them a most diabolical smile before gesturing for them to enter the kitchens. "Happy scrubbing, gentlemen," she said and slammed the door behind them.

"Washing dishes?" Draco screeched. "I have never been so humiliated! Potter, you will pay for this!"

Potter rolled his eyes. "You could do with some humiliating, Malfoy. Can we just get started so we can get this over and done with? I don't want to spend all evening listening to you whine like a girl with a broken fingernail."

Draco glared murderously at the Gryffindor. "I do not whine!"

"Sure, you don't," Potter replied dismissively then turned and headed toward the sink. "I suggest one of us washes, the other one dries, otherwise we'll probably run out of space on the rack. We can pile them on the table once we're done. Professor Taira didn't say we had to put them away."

Draco looked in dismay at the mountain of dirty dishes perched on the counter next to the sink. He knew they were from dinner earlier, and he hadn't quite realised how many people were at the school until he counted them by the dishes they used. 

"Well? Wash or dry?" Potter asked impatiently.

"Dry. If you think I'm going to handle someone else's leftovers, you're more of an idiot than you look."

"Please do us all a favour and shut the hell up, Malfoy," the Gryffindor sighed as he pulled a pair of yellow rubber gloves on and began to fill the large sink with hot water. "In case you hadn't noticed, you're the only one here who likes the sound of your voice."

"And since when do I adhere to your requests? How the hell am I supposed to dry these infernal dishes?"

"With a tea towel." Potter pointed at a pile of red and white checked pieces of cloth draped over a wooden rack on the right hand side of the sink. He then smirked maliciously at Draco. "Who's the idiot now? You'd think such an intelligent individual like yourself would've known."

Draco tossed his head indignantly as he whipped the tea towels off the rack. "Your evident experience in servitude is nothing to be proud of."

"And your evident experience of being a rich, spoilt brat is nothing to shout about either."

Letting out a short bark of laughter, Draco remarked. "I have no need to shout about it. I have fawning sycophants to do the grunt work."

"And where are those lackeys now? Fled at the first sign that you're playing for the losing team?" Potter practically leered at him.

"Subtlety does not become of you, Potter. You just haven't got the finesse, and you'll probably sprain something. If you want to make some moronic, insulting comment about today's headlines just go ahead and spit it out."

Draco was surprised when Potter did not immediately rip into his father and all that bore the Malfoy blood. In fact, Potter had suddenly become very interested in scrubbing the dishes.

"No retorts, Potter? I know people usually get nervous and tongue-tied in my presence, but you need not be shy. After all we've been having a go at each other for the better part of five years now," Draco goaded as he dried another dish and laid it on the table.

"Just shut up and dry. We're not here on some bonding session."

"Oh, are we not? And here I thought we were fast becoming bosom buddies." 

Potter muttered through gritted teeth, "If you don't shut up, I'm going to thump you."

"Always with the physical violence. How boorish! You've just confirmed that you're more brawns than brains. You should get to know Crabbe and Goyle; you'll be right at home in their company."

Swearing floridly, Potter spun around and hurled a soapy, wet dish at Draco. Draco ducked and the plate shattered noisily against the wall behind him.

The Slytherin then swore in return. "Ever thought of anger management therapy, Potter? You may be happy to lose house points but I'm not!"

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Potter shouted.

"You're the one throwing china like a woman scorned!" 

"This is all a big joke to you, isn't it? You don't care about anything, about anyone! All you care is about yourself and how pretty you look in the morning!"

"That's not true." Draco sniffed haughtily. "I care about how pretty I look in the afternoon and in the evening as well."

Potter glared at him then shook his head in resignation before returning to his dish washing.

"Talk about your mood swings." Draco muttered to himself, reaching for the next dish to dry.

The boys carried on their punishment in silence. Only the sloshing of the water and the clinking of china was heard in their corner of the kitchen for even the elves had given them a wide berth. No doubt Taira had instructed them to do so.

Later, Potter spoke up again. "Have you no shame?" 

"I have nothing to be ashamed of; unless you count having to wash dishes with you."

Potter continued as if he had not heard Draco's comment. "Your father has been found guilty of being a Death Eater, and you still strut around the school like you're god's gift to mankind. Do you really think you're that important?"

Chuckling softly, Draco replied. "Maybe not, but others seem to think I am. Who am I to argue with popular opinion?"

"You're despicable!"

"What, just because others look up to me? Well, then so are you!"

"I didn't ask for this," Potter muttered sourly.

"Oh, yes, and I did because I single-handedly established the impressive reputation the Malfoy name has."

"Still doesn't stop you from basking in the tainted light, though, does it?"

"I can't decide if you're just naïve or really stupid." Draco sighed impatiently. "What's the point of crying 'woe is me' all the time when these things will fall onto your lap regardless? Moping won't change a thing, so I work it to my advantage. Might as well get something out of it if it's going to be winging my way, in spite of how loudly I may protest about it." 

"You are such an opportunistic git!" 

"Slytherin, remember?" 

"How can I forget? You're always reminding me and demonstrating the finer Slytherin traits, making my life more miserable than it already is!"

"You keep calling me arrogant, but you run around acting as if you had monopoly on pain and hardship. Like your suffering is infinitely worse than everyone else's put together." 

"That's not true!" the Gryffindor exclaimed indignantly, spinning to face Draco.

"If you hurl another plate at me I will hex you into the next millennium, wand or no wand," Draco hissed warningly. "Besides, you not admitting it won't make it any less true. I'm surprised the Weasel and the Mudblood haven't told you that. Too afraid they might shatter your fragile psyche?"

"Don't you dare insult my friends!"

"Why not? If I insult my friends, why should I spare _yours_?" 

"You? Friends? Hah! Don't make me laugh." 

Draco was about to take offence and probably would have if he hadn't started to build a rapport with Blaise at the beginning of the term. Nevertheless, a small insecure part of him did wonder if Potter was right. Not that he would admit it to the Gryffindor. 

"Despite what you think, you know nothing about me, Potter; on the account that you have been too absorbed with your life to notice anything else." 

The Gryffindor smiled maliciously at him and intonated his words clearly, "Well, that makes two of us, doesn't it?" 

For a brief moment, Draco felt trapped. There was truth in the other boy's words that he could not deny. Nevertheless he would be damned before he acknowledged it. "Yet another display of how the universe revolves around one Harry bloody Potter – pretty and entertaining but completely fictional."

The boys had been so busy arguing that they had not noticed Taira watching their exchange. She cleared her throat and their heads snapped to face her. She wore a look of amusement as she studied the boys.

"It's been nearly three hours, and I was wondering what was taking you boys so long. I guess the male of our species really aren't built for multi-tasking." She chuckled. "It is possible to talk and clean at the same time. At least you have made progress, and so far only one plate has been reported broken."

She approached them and eyed the remaining pile of dirty dishes. They had done some eighty percent of the dishes, but it would seem Taira wasn't completely satisfied. "I am a trifle disappointed that you have not seen the task to completion though. Nevertheless, you may go for tonight." 

Draco tried not to gape at the implication of her words. "Are we coming back?"

"Tomorrow is a Hogsmeade weekend. I know how important these trips are to students, and I would not like to keep you up tonight. However, your punishment is not finished, thus it would be logical to conclude that you will need to come back to finish it."

"No," Draco replied immediately knowing that if they had to come back another night, they would have to start from scratch. "I do not like to leave a task unfinished. Hogsmeade does not hold such fascination for me at any rate."

"Very well, Mister Malfoy, the choice is yours to make. Mister Potter? Will you stay with Mister Malfoy or return another day?"

"I'll stay, Professor. I'd like to finish this once and for all, too," Potter muttered.

"Well then, I suggest you learn to multi task if you wish to continue hurling insults each others. I have returned your wands to your respective dorms; you should find them on your bedside table. Good night, gentlemen." She inclined her head courteously, then turned and swept out of the kitchen.

Draco wondered how much of their conversation Taira had heard. 

"Are you going to shut up now and finish this some time tonight?" Potter growled.

"I'm not the one whose hands stop working when his lips start flapping."

Potter sighed. "I'm going to ignore you now, Malfoy." 

"You'll never succeed, I'm far too charismatic for the likes of you to ignore." Draco smirked, picking up another dish.

Right on cue, Potter retorted, "Shut up, Malfoy."

Draco grinned broadly. Those three words were seemingly an automatic response for Potter. They were almost the first words that spilled out of his mouth whenever he and Draco began a confrontation. 

"Stop smirking at me, you prick," Potter snapped irritably.

"I thought you were ignoring me. Not that easy, eh?" 

Potter gritted his teeth. Draco could see the amount of concentration pouring out from the Gryffindor to focus solely on scrubbing the dishes. He noticed how there was a slight throbbing in Potter's temple and that a giant crease had begun to form between dark eyebrows. The angular jaw line was rigidly set and lips were resolutely pursed. Draco thought that if Potter stared any harder at the dish in his hands it would explode because of the sheer force of his will.

Draco watched Potter work in silence for the remaining duration of their punishment. He watched the subtle changes of Potter's expression, which gradually moved from being incredibly pissed off at Draco to settling into a tolerable truce in their rivalry. Potter's features softened as they neared the end of the dishwashing fiasco. He looked almost blissfully content, as if doing something as mundane and inconsequential as washing dishes had given him the very respite from being the saviour of the world he had needed. 

It was perhaps the first time that Draco had seen Potter without an angry scowl or a worried frown or a weary grimace on his face and Draco thought that Potter wasn't too bad on the eyes.

Five years and Draco had never once spared a thought to how Potter had managed. The moment he had returned to the wizarding world, Potter had been besieged – by the media, by people who wanted to exploit his fame, by the remnants of the Death Eaters. In so many respects he was still a child, and yet Draco had heard and seen time and time again how Potter had surmounted every obstacle in his path and beaten off every fanatic that had sought to harm him, Draco included.

No, Potter was not to be despised. He was to be respected, even if he was not liked. 

With the last of the dishes washed, Potter merely unplugged the sink, laid the gloves upon the rack and left the kitchen without a word. Draco watched him walk away. His head was bowed and shoulders were hunched with the weight of the world upon them. He vanished through the door and Draco was left in silence save the gurgling of the emptying sink.

"I didn't ask for this," Potter had said earlier.

 _No,_ Draco thought, wiping that last dish dry. _None of us asked for what we have to endure. But we all have our own crosses to bear. Some of our burdens are just a little heavier than others. And some of us just make more of a song and dance out of it._


	5. Chapter Four – Fallen from Grace

Draco had every intention of sleeping till noon that Saturday, seeing that he had had a late night the night before and no sleep the night previous to that, but fate was conspiring against him. Blaise had woken him up at the ungodly hour of eight and said that they were all going into Hogsmeade as public show of solidarity. Draco told him to shove said solidarity up where the sun didn't shine, but Blaise had set Nott's infernal alarm off and placed it next to Draco.

A number of hexes flew around the dormitory, but Blaise having the advantage of actually being awake had blocked and countered each one of them. Draco conceded, knowing that he wouldn't get any sleep with that overbearing moron he had the misfortune of being dorm mates with breathing down his neck.

As sleepy as he felt, Draco did not show it. He was flawlessly groomed, and his gait betrayed none of his tiredness as he sashayed through the main street in Hogsmeade. Blaise walked on his right, Pansy on his left while Crabbe, Goyle and Nott tottered a few paces behind him. In all honesty, he thought they were being foolish and childish. 

Potter had been right, why were they strutting around acting like they were god's gift to humanity? Their fathers had been named and shamed publicly. Why were they projecting an image that was akin to some great honour? Nevertheless, was it wise for Draco to be renouncing his father publicly?

"This is stupid," he muttered. "What are you trying to prove, Blaise?"

"I don't know, do you think we're proving anything by walking down a street?"

"We are hardly inconspicuous by travelling with an entourage!"

"Draco, you can stand alone in a crowded room and still not be inconspicuous."

"Goddammit, Zabini, did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want any part of this?"

Blaise stopped walking and looked coolly at Draco. "You think they want to have a part of this?" He gestured at the trio behind them. "We play the cards that fate has dealt us, no matter how bad they are. You can either bluff and win your hand or fold like the coward everyone is expecting us to be."

"You keep saying 'us'. I don't see your name in the article." Draco knew he was being puerile, but he just couldn't summon the strength to be more mature about it.

"You really haven't grasped the concept of fellowship, have you?" Blaise shook his head sadly.

"Perhaps the middle of Hogsmeade isn't the best place to be having a row, boys?" Pansy interrupted. "Besides, it's cold. Let's go get a drink." 

She threaded her arm through Draco's and began leading him towards the Three Broomsticks. Surprisingly, the boy did not protest. The others fell in step, and they piled into the pub, grateful to be out of the chilly autumn wind.

Almost all heads swivelled to look at them. Draco fought the urge to hex them en masse. Instead, he gave them his most charming smile and said in his usual lofty tone, "The earth need not stop spinning just because I'm here. I'll be in that booth if you want to gawk some more." He pointed at the booth in the far corner of the room. Everyone looked a mixture of stunned and incredulous while his own group chuckled mindlessly. 

"There," Draco said savagely to Blaise as he slipped into the booth, "Is that bluff satisfactory?"

"What the hell is your problem?"

Before answering, Draco quite brusquely told the others to make themselves scarce, as he wanted a private word with Blaise. "One, I didn't ask to be part of your ridiculous circus show, two, I don't give a damn what the public thinks of me, three, I'm sick and tired of being the one who has to solve everyone's problems. Why can't someone hand _me_ the solution on a silver platter for a change?"

"You're part of it whether you like it or not, Malfoy, and I chose to be a part of it, because friendship and loyalty means something to me. I'll stand by the others because they need the support."

"Then go stand by them and leave me out of this! I don't need you to run my life."

"As you wish, your majesty," Blaise retorted coldly and slid out of the booth. "The path you are heading down right now could lead to a lonely place, if you're not careful. We may have tolerated your volatile temperament for these past years, but even we have our limits." He then moved to join the others at a different table.

Draco did not sit to brood over his argument with Blaise. He rose quickly and left the pub, storming his way back to the Castle. He was just within reach of the Castle grounds when a loud pop startled him and someone Apparated right before him. The lurid coloured robes and bejewelled spectacles told him that it could only be Rita Skeeter, gossipmonger extraordinaire.

"Oh, you are a hard man to find, Draco Malfoy," she drawled, her voice like belladonna-laced candy.

"Miss Skeeter, what can I do you for?" Draco asked politely despite knowing that there was only one thing that Rita ever wanted – a sensational story, be it one that was true or one embellished by her overenthusiastic quill.

"I was hoping to get a few words from you about the verdict of your father's trial."

"How does 'no comment' sound to you?" Draco replied dismissively, attempting to step around her.

"Surely you'd want to have your say about it?" She moved to block his path.

"What difference would it make? My word is not likely to result in a change of the verdict."

"The people want to know. How do you feel about all this?" She pressed on.

"The people can make up their own fantasies and assumptions about me without my help, which they are going to anyway."

"Then it's time you set them right. Show them truth." She smiled predatorily.

Draco let out a bark of laughter. "And I suppose _you_ would be the one to deliver it? Miss Skeeter, you forget I was your primary source to debase Potter two years ago. You are a master of aggrandisement, and I wouldn't even trust you to write my obituary without sensationalising it."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten about how helpful you were to me then. You may consider this as my way of saying thanks."

"You getting out of my face is thanks enough."

"Let me make this clear, Draco. I will write this article whether you give me an exclusive or not. I can quite easily talk to your classmates and obtain what I need from someone else. I'm sure you're familiar with my way of acquiring information. Now, wouldn't you prefer to have a say in what goes in?"

Draco narrowed his cold grey eyes at her. While initially he had just found her annoying and intrusive, Rita Skeeter had just made an enemy out of him. Nobody blackmailed Draco Malfoy. And nobody got away with it without a fitting chastisement.

"Let me make this clear, _Rita_. Do not presume you could intimidate me with your paltry threats. Write your article; see if I care. You, on the other hand, have more to worry about should I let slip your little secret about a certain beetle. I daresay you have much more to lose when that goes public than I do when your article to tarnish my reputation does." 

Rita eyes darkened. "I should've guessed you would be capable of blackmail. Have you been taking lessons from Miss Granger?"

"Granger blackmailed you? I didn't think she had it in her." Draco laughed then smirked at Rita. "I am capable of anything that will give me an advantage. I am Slytherin."

Murderous glances were exchanged, both sizing up their opponent, but neither spoke another word for a moment.

"As much as I find it thrilling to be conversing with you, Miss Skeeter, I have responsibilities that I need to attend to. Good day, madam." Draco inclined his head with feigned courtesy then deftly stepped around her and continued his way towards Hogwarts.

Draco wondered briefly how much trouble he would get into if he jinxed the perfectly manicured nails off that intrusive bint before remembering that it was only the night before that he had had to serve a highly degrading detention with Potter.

He marched straight towards the Castle, not casting a backward glance at Rita Skeeter, surmising that her lack of pursuit into Hogwarts grounds could mean that the ban Dumbledore had imposed on her still stood. Draco was thankful for small favours.

As the majority of the older students were milling around Hogsmeade, and the younger students that were not yet allowed to leave had gathered in more public areas like the library and the central courtyard, Draco headed towards the east side of the Castle grounds which he knew was mostly unused. He certainly did not need any company that day, given that those whom he normally chose above all others had managed to aggravate him.

Hogwarts Castle bore all the hallmarks of a medieval castle. The walls were rough-hewn grey sandstone held together by mortar. It was sturdy, build to withstand the greatest of sieges – Muggle or Magic. Centuries of exposure to magic of varying magnitude had resulted in each stone virtually humming with power and to be embraced by this timeless sentinel had always made Draco feel safe. 

The young Slytherin meandered around the towers and rooms and strolled through the many open corridors and courtyards until he came upon one that was occupied.

He stood at mouth of the hallway that led into it and watched with fascination. His assumption about Taira exercising had been correct; he simply had not thought that this was her mode of exercise.

Taira had a gleaming sword in her hand, and she moved with fluid grace, working through a score of intricate moves. She was elegant yet with an edge of deadliness that would not be denied. Draco was awed by how the blade in her hand was seemingly an extension of her own body.

If Taira knew he was watching, she did not show it until she had completed her routine. Lowering her blade, she turned and looked straight at Draco. The boy felt his cheeks flush a little. Taira then raised her hand and crooked a finger at him, gesturing for him to approach. Draco acquiesced, stepping into the courtyard to find it rather warm.

"Good afternoon, Mister Malfoy," she greeted him amicably. "Tell me, do you possess any martial skills?"

Of all the things he thought she would ask that was not it. Draco regained his composure quickly and replied modestly, "I know my way around a sword."

"Name your weapon."

"The American cavalry sabre – single edged, thirty inches in length, one inch in width." Once he had finished, Taira pointed to something behind him. Draco turned to find upon a weapons' rack the sword he had just described.

"The blades are enchanted not to draw blood, but they will probably still leave a mark if you're not careful."

"You want me to duel you?" Draco exclaimed, his composure waning. No matter what he did, how he analysed and how he mentally prepared himself, Taira always seemed to find the very thing to startle him.

She bowed reverently. "En garde, Mister Malfoy."

Draco saluted her in return.

The steely ring of the blades striking each other echoed in the courtyard. Every thrust Draco delivered was parried and returned, every swing blocked and countered. Draco lamented to himself that he was either out of practice or Taira was a superior swordsman. 

Nevertheless, Draco was enjoying the challenge. It made him remember the thrill of physical exertion that no other sport offered. Sure, Quidditch was exciting and exhilarating – what with the speed and the chase, but there was something about playing with pointy objects that made the adrenaline rush even more intoxicating.

Eventually, Taira took a step backwards and said, "Stop."

Draco obediently desisted. They bowed to one another then returned their weapons to the rack.

"How long have you known how to fence, Mister Malfoy?" Taira asked as she picked up a bottle of water and took a sip. 

Draco declined her offer of the second bottle then shrugged nonchalantly. "Since I was old enough to walk."

"I see." Taira nodded. "Judging by your performance you have not had much practice, have you?"

The words might have been a cat-o-nine tails upon his bare skin. Draco tried not to show his disappointment in failing to impress her.

"It's a shame, Mister Malfoy," she continued, not bothering to wait for a reply from him. "You have the talent, the grace and the agility of a martial artist. With a lot of practice and some coaching you could be a master swordsman, or greater; that is if you so desired."

Perhaps he had impressed her somewhat.

"Are you offering?" Draco asked boldly. He was Slytherin to the core. He wasn't about to beat around the bush and start acting coy. When he wanted something he went for it.

Taira paused in contemplation for a moment. "I guess I am, if you believe that you can learn from me."

"I know you have much more to offer me beyond the confines of our Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom," Draco stated resolutely. He wasn't sure why the sudden desire to take extra lessons, but he believed whole heartedly what he had just said, even if he didn't quite understand it. 

"You should know that I am most skilled in the eastern arts thus I will not be able to do much for you where fencing is concerned."

"I am not averse to learning something new."

"Additionally, I am not a lenient _sensei._ " 

" _Sensei?_ "

"Teacher, mentor, master."

"It will be an honour to be guided by your wisdom and experience."

"So be it." She laughed. "Every Thursday after classes I will be expecting you."

"Here?"

"No, I have a room more suited for training. You can meet me in my office before your first lesson, and I will show you where the room is. Subsequent lessons, you will make your way to the training room yourself. Any questions?"

"What do I need to bring with me?"

"Just you, your enthusiasm to learn and your charming personality," she replied wryly. "Anything else?"

"No, Professor."

"Excellent." Taira picked up her wand and with a muttered incantation, the summer-like warmth dissipated from the courtyard and the weapons' rack disappeared. Before she left, she reiterated their agreement. "Four fifteen p.m. at my office this Thursday; don't be late."

"Thank you, Professor." 

Draco watched her go, attempting to analyse the enigma that was his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. 

Taira looked barely ten years older than Draco himself, yet she seemed to carry a lifetime of burdens upon her shoulders. Her great knowledge of the Dark Arts could indicate she had either studied it very well, or she had experienced it herself. What could someone as young as her have endured? Was she a victim of the Dark Lord's first reign? It wouldn't surprise Draco if she were; so many of their kind had suffered under that megalomaniac. 

Perhaps, he could gain a better insight of Taira during their training sessions.

Draco turned around and headed towards the Great Hall. Although he was never one to wear a watch, the sun in its zenith told him it must be lunchtime. That and he was hungry, too. 

Spending the rest of the morning with Taira had improved his mood considerably. In fact, one could even say that he was almost in a whimsical mood. Even all the malicious whispering that buzzed around him like an annoying mosquito no longer bothered him in the least.

Draco was several feet from entering the Great Hall for lunch when a figure virtually appeared in front of him, blocking his way in. It was Potter.

"Insignificant though you are to me, Potter, you are, lamentably, not intangible. Remove your philistine arse from my path."

Potter glowered at him. "I don't you what your game is, but I'm watching you."

"Watching me? Why, Potter, I didn't know you cared." Draco replied coolly.

"Don't get cocky, Malfoy. I know you're up to something."

Draco laughed. "And if I am? What exactly are you going to do about it?"

"Whatever it takes to stop you. And why are you suddenly smarming up to the new professor?"

"You're talking like a jealous boyfriend, Potter," Draco smirked. "Who is she to you?"

"That is none of your business!"

"Well evidently you're making it mine with all these ludicrous threats."

"I swear, Malfoy. If you do anything ..."

"You'll what?" Draco interrupted impatiently. "Pay me back? Don't you dare talk to me about retribution, Potter. _You_ owe me."

A sneer curled Potter's lips. "Your father deserved what he got."

"Perhaps, but know that he would not concede so easily," Draco retorted. "Besides, I'm certain such an esteemed professor like her is more than capable of taking care of herself. I seriously doubt she would need you to protect her."

Potter merely scowled at Draco.

Before the Gryffindor could retort, Draco continued, "While she is undeniably attractive, I am not inclined to take advantage of her." Draco then gave Potter an appraising look that bordered on leering. He smirked and added. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about _your_ virtue. That is, if you can somehow purge your mother's mud blood from your veins, you'd just about clean up satisfactorily."

Draco wasn't sure what possessed him to say what he had just said, but the expression on Potter's face was absolutely priceless; it made it worth saying. Potter looked absolutely flabbergasted. Draco wondered if it was because he had just confessed to Potter that he was gay, or the fact that he had just seemingly come on to the Gryffindor. Whatever the reason, a speechless, blushing Potter was a novel thing. 

"Oooooo! Little Drakey-poo has a boyfriend!" a mocking voice squealed above them;, it was the accursed poltergeist. Peeves continued in a sing-song voice, rather loudly, as he drifted away, no doubt to spread the rumour, "Drakey and Potty sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G..."

Potter looked absolutely horrified, but Draco merely winked salaciously at his arch-nemesis and sashayed away. Making a sublime exit was just as good as making an impressive entry.

~*~

After his argument with Potter in a rather public location, the school was abuzz with a new topic of gossip – Draco Malfoy was gay. If Peeves could be trusted to do anything, it would be causing chaos. Though, why anyone believed the infernal poltergeist was a mystery to Draco.

 _At least they stopped talking about our fathers,_ Draco sought to find the silver lining. Even though he had never intended it, he had unwittingly handed the solution to the others on a silver platter. By giving the gossip-mongering horde something more scandalous to talk about, their fathers' sentences was old news. The worse thing about the new rumour was that Potter had been named as his romantic interest, despite the fact that they were bitter rivals. Some would go as far as to come up with preposterous ideas, which ranged from love potions to Imperius curses to kismet, simply to justify their fabricated liaison.

Sometimes, Draco wondered if Potter or himself was his worst enemy. His only consolation was the knowledge that Potter was very likely disturbed by this as well. It was childish, he knew, but he didn't care.

After dinner, Draco shunned the crowd. As a prefect he had leave to wander the halls after hours without being questioned. Even Filch knew enough to not harass him. He wandered back towards the east side of the castle and found himself a nice cosy room to settle in. He wasn't sure what it was used for. It was smaller than an average classroom and had a large fireplace. There was no furniture in the room and it didn't look like it had been used recently. The room was surprisingly dust free, but Draco suspected that the house-elves cleaned everything; if one stood still long enough, they would probably try to dust and polish one, too.

The first flick of his wand lit the fireplace; the next conjured a number of plush cushions upon the window seat. Draco settled himself into it and peered out of the window and at the moon. He wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish. He certainly wasn't going to admit that he was hiding. That was far too undignified. Malfoys didn't hide; they confronted what was bothering them. If that didn't work, then they had those involved killed so there would be no one alive to bother them again.

Perhaps he just needed some time to think. Too many things had happened in a very short space of time, and no one had given him the opportunity to think things through. They had all expected him to have the answers immediately. Sure, he had answers – 'sod off' was an answer, it just wasn't a very good one.

"You're a hard man to find." A voice startled him out of his reverie. It was Blaise.

"Apparently not hard enough," Draco replied wearily, thinking how Rita Skeeter and Potter had also waylaid him earlier today.

Blaise chuckled. He moved to sit opposite Draco by the window. Neither one of them said anything when Blaise offered Draco a bottle. Draco took the bottle, examined the label briefly before uncorking it and taking a swig. He handed the bottle back to Blaise.

Perhaps he was being presumptuous, but Draco took that gesture as an offering of truce from their earlier disagreement. Blaise drank heartily from the bottle before passing it back to Draco. They carried on for a few moments, the only sounds in the room was the crackling fire and the sloshing of liquor. Draco was quite pleased with the companionable silence.

"Tell me, Draco," Blaise eventually drawled as he took another swig from the bottle. "Tell me honestly, was your sudden grand exposé about your diverse sexuality prompted by a belligerent desire to trigger a collective apoplexy in the ranks of magical high society or do you really think you'd want to spend the rest of your life with another man?"

Draco blinked at him. "Lots of big words in there. There really is no need to impress me that way."

Blaise laughed. "If you prefer me to talk like a chav, I can do that too. Now answer the question."

Draco actually took the time to process the question. When he was done, Draco honestly told Blaise that he didn't know, though he had always appreciated the male form thoroughly.

"You do realise that saying you were dating a Muggle girl would probably have the same effect."

"Dating?" Draco snorted. "That's a novel concept. We don't date. We use people as sexual toys and stunning token escorts at the latest gala but we don't date. Not one single Malfoy has dated since the turn of the century. The best we could've done was learning to get along with our betrothed."

"Betrothed?" Blaise choked on his drink. "Oh, do tell!"

Draco shrugged. "Some spoiled, supercilious girl from somewhere in Europe; I don't know; can't remember her name."

Chuckling, Blaise handed the bottle over to Draco, who took it and took two huge gulps. He then crooned. "Oh, you are such a romantic, Draco! Be still my heart!"

"Get bent, Zabini; Like your mother hasn't already eyed up some poor girl to put up with you for the rest of her tormented life."

"At least I know her name." Blaise smirked. "Well, at least the name of the family. There are apparently four daughters to choose from. Aren't I the lucky one?"

Draco laughed. "Pick the prettiest. Even if she's thick as two short planks with the temperament of a shrew, she'll be nice to look at when you're ensuring the continuity of the Zabini line. And your demon spawns will stand a chance of looking good too."

"You are so shallow, Draco Malfoy," Blaise complained. "There's more to life than beauty."

"Only those who have beauty believe in that."

"Well, I guess we're more enlightened than most then."

"Ah, beautiful and wise." Draco sighed somewhat wistfully, passing the bottle back to Blaise. "Yet so damned single."

Blaise took another swig, his expression pensive with a touch of concern as he looked at Draco. "Are we feeling a pang of loneliness? For a soul mate or just a good lay?"

"You don't mince your words do you, Blaise?" Draco chuckled.

"You're a hard man to please, I speak euphuistically and you complain, I speak plainly and you criticise." He shook his head lightly. "Well?"

Draco thought of fobbing Blaise off, but he had decided that in the last few weeks of actually taking the time to talk to the other Slytherin, he had liked it. Blaise was funny and sarcastic with a streak of perverse vindictiveness that was not unlike Draco's own. He was also very easy on the eyes. Very easy indeed, and he certainly did not go stomping around the school like the thought of being a member of the next generation of Death Eaters was the best thing since self-stirring cauldrons. Draco quietly wondered what Blaise's view on that whole Dark Lord malarkey was, but as an unspoken rule, they did not broach the subject. Draco was pleased with that; at least he was for now.

"Definitely the latter. I'm not built for the kind of lovey-dovey, handholding, flower-buying, sweet-nothings-whispering farce. I just want a shag, so hard and thoroughly that I'll forget my own name, forget about the lunacy of the world we live in and just revel in the euphoria of a no-strings-attached intimacy. Loki, is that too much to ask?"

At that Blaise dissolved into helpless laughter. When he finally stopped, he said, "Draco, all you have to do is ask and you'll have girls, and several boys no doubt, forming a line at our door right up to Hogsmeade! But if you do, I hope you'd give us Slytherins preferential treatment." Blaise waggled his eyebrows at Draco suggestively.

"I thought you were straight."

"I am," Blaise replied. "But I've always believed that because you've chosen one thing over another at one point doesn't mean that we can't explore unknown territories or change our minds later. Humans are curious creatures and nothing is set in stone. You know you're incredibly beautiful, androgynous even, what with your crystalline features and svelte physique. For you, I will gladly make the exception."

Draco frowned at Blaise. "Prick! Are you saying I look like a girl?"

"I'm sure you look fabulous in drag."

"I'd say 'screw you' but you'd probably take that as an invitation." Draco huffed, flipped Blaise off then snatched the bottle from him and took a swig before pouting.

"C'mon, we all must have some sordid tale of our school days to tell our grandchildren."

"A gay fling with your dorm mate is hardly worth a story, Blaise. It's been done to death. Have you no sense of the sensational?" 

"Nonsense! Anything pertaining the indomitable Draco Malfoy is sensational," Blaise said with flourish and a grin.

Draco averted his eyes away from his fellow Slytherin and stared blankly out the window. He didn't know what possessed him to say what he said next. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he knew what it was to actually have an equal who did not hate him. 

He sighed, whispering; "I wish you people would stop putting me on such a high pedestal. It's cold and lonely up there."

He certainly thought about it often, but he had never once thought that he would voice it. Being on a pedestal came with the name Malfoy. It was something he had been groomed for since early childhood. People looked up to him to lead them just as the generation before did with his father. He certainly had the good looks and charisma to garner attention, but did he have the will to lead? Sometimes he thought he would serve better as the pretty mascot instead of the captain.

Blaise finally said, his voice now serious, "Not all of us can put faith into something that we can't see. So we create an avatar that could give us a measure of comfort and security. Something that allows us to sleep better in the night, knowing our avatar is there to watch over us."

Draco sighed somewhat dejectedly. "But I'm not. I'm not some glorious white knight in shining armour sweeping in to save the damsels and the helpless. I want things for myself, not for the good of the people. I'm not that selfless. You want a hero? Look in Gryffindor."

"You don't need to be a hero, Draco." Blaise rested his hand gently on Draco's foot. As a rule, no one touched Draco without prior invitation written in blood, but for the first time Draco didn't feel that the gesture of friendship warranted his contempt. In fact, it offered him a sense of ... reassurance. Reassurance that he wasn't the consummate bastard that everyone else thought he was.

Blaise continued, "No one is asking you to go risk life and limb to prove yourself heroic. All you need to do is be whatever you choose to be. Just as long as you are true to yourself, we will believe in you – you, Draco, not Malfoy."

"So, no pressure then," Draco said somewhat bitterly.

"Judging by what you said, you have no idea of the kind of effect you have on us, do you?"

"Does it involve the changing of one's underwear? If not, then I'll be sorely disappointed."

Blaise laughed. "Not quite. Although it depends on _why_ one would need to change one's underwear."

"What?"

"Idiot! The boys want to be you and the girls want to be with you, and vice versa in some cases. Even all the way back to when we were eleven, our seniors were not spared of that fate," Blaise elaborated. "But I'm guessing you didn't notice because in the last five years you've only got eyes for two people – yourself and Harry Potter."

Draco remained silent, pondering the depths of Blaise's words, all of his words. Was the other boy speaking of the truth? That even though he would forever walk in the shadow of his family's name, others had seen his own worth?

The first words of a professor who had inspired him came to mind. Her mezzo-soprano clear in his mind, _"I judge each person by his or her own merits and choices... You will be evaluated without the burden of your houses' centuries of established reputation, both good and bad..."_

Could it be true? Could he really deviate from the well-paved path that the Malfoy family had laid for him and for his children and for his children's children?

Up till that moment, Draco had acted and chosen everything, as he believed that his family would approve of. He had sought out Harry Potter because a relationship, of any kind, would be a tactical advantage for them. He had continued his de facto leadership of his house because it was beneficial for them. He had done everything that he knew was expected of him, because that was how he was raised and he believed that he was doing it all of his own free will.

Was this a more subtle cunning form of the Imperious Curse? 

How Slytherin.

Did he even have an independent thought in his head that wasn't conditioned by his family? For the last sixteen years, he had been responding automatically with "Good morning, Professor Umbridge," staunchly believing that it was what he wanted to do.

Draco drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them. "I'm a fraud, Blaise," he whispered. "I'm just as much a sheep as they are. A sheep that has been manipulated to believe he's a shepherd."

"We are all sheep in some ways, Draco," Blaise replied with little hesitation, "Everyone needs something to follow, to believe in. It's just that some of us are stronger in keeping the faith. Thus, the weak will need a shepherd to help them hold true to that faith."

"And who will guide the shepherd?"

Draco's question went unanswered and another moment of silence passed. Draco was actually grateful for whichever hands of fate that had finally guided him to someone with whom he could have an intelligent conversation, someone who had a lot in common with him, even if it had taken him five years to realise that. 

Heavens forefend, would Draco actually admit that he had found a friend?

"If we can be spouting these philosophical tripe." Draco raised his head and grinned at the other boy. "Then we are certainly not drunk enough."

Blaise snorted. "How sure are you I won't have liberties with your fine body once I get you drunk?"

A mischievous leer curled the corners of Draco's lips. "How sure are you that that's not my original cunning plan?"

They dissolved into soft chuckling as the continued to work on that bottle of exquisite cognac.


	6. Chapter Five – Spiked!

Taira led her somewhat baffled class down to the Quidditch pitch. She had said nothing more than, "Leave your books, follow me," when she entered the room.

Upon arrival, Draco noticed that there was a large white circle drawn in the grass. It was some thirty feet in diameter, and there was a chest within it. Taira ushered everyone into the circle and stood by the chest.

"Curses, hexes and jinxes often come hand-in-hand with counter, blocking and deflection spells," she began. "But not everything can be undone and even if it can, you might not be in the position to do so. Take something as simple as the Stunning spell for example. While its counter-spell can be performed by even the most inexperienced of wizards, the victim himself cannot cast it. While stunned, the victim is, thus, at the mercy of his attacker and will remain so until an ally revives him."

Taira swept a serious gaze at the class. "How do we prevent ending up in such a position?"

Several hands shot up into the air. Taira nodded towards Ernie Macmillan.

With a grin he said, "Run for your life!"

The class erupted in a wave of laughter.

Taira gave him a wry look. "A prudent course of action, Mister Macmillan, but not exactly what I was looking for. Mister Boot, did you have something to add?"

"Avoid being hit in the first place?" he hazarded a guess.

"Indeed." Taira nodded satisfactorily. "Thus, today, we are going to hone your skills in another branch of defence. Today, we're going to play Dodgeball."

Draco noted that those of Muggle descent knew exactly what Taira was talking about while the Purebloods looked quite lost. He quietly dreaded the lesson, wondering if this was going to be some humiliating Muggle activity she was going to put them through – like dish washing.

"The main aim of this exercise is to test your reflexes; that is to dodge the balls. Or in your case, dodge the Bludgers."

"What?" Hannah Abbott exclaimed.

"The Bludgers, Miss Abbott," Taira repeated. "I'm sure you know what they are?"

"But aren't they dangerous?" Abbott asked in a timid voice.

"Sure enough, Bludgers have been responsible for broken bones and concussions. I'm sure our Quidditch players here will attest to that, but as you can see they are still here, and I heard Madam Pomfrey is an excellent healer.

"These Bludgers, fortunately for you, are not the ones that are employed in the game. They've been enchanted to hit a little less hard. You might still bruise, but I doubt you'd end up with a broken bone. If you feel that you cannot bear the pain of being hit by a Bludger, I'd advise you to dodge."

Draco was convinced that there was a sadistic gleam in their Professor's eyes. At least, Draco mused, this could turn out to be an interesting lesson. He was confident of his own reflexes as a Seeker to dodge the Bludgers, even if he was on the ground. He cast a look around his classmates and wasn't surprised to find that all the non-Quidditch players looked quite nervous about it.

Taira instructed them to lay their wands aside; they were not to defend themselves with magic, and she certainly didn't want anyone impaling oneself or someone else accidentally. The moment the last wand clattered into the tray, a Bludger came zooming out of the chest.

All the students ducked, watching the flying menace hurtle at them. Suddenly, the Bludger rebounded back into the group as if it had been hit by an invisible Beater. Draco then realised what the circle was for – it was a magical enclosure in which the Bludger was bound.

The crowd scattered, some of the girls squealing in mixed terror and excitement. Draco's eyes followed the Bludger, noticing that it was gaining speed. Just as he thought that it was child's play, a second Bludger was released. He sidestepped it neatly allowing it to rebound off the barrier behind him. A few more moments passed and a third, then a fourth and a fifth Bludger were released. 

The frenzy of five rebounding Bludgers made it more of a challenge than Draco had initially thought. 

Draco was almost hit, if not for the warning that Blaise had yelled out. Draco had returned the favour by pulling Blaise out of the path of a Bludger. As predicted, it was the non-Quidditch players that were hit first. Before long, even some of the players had been knocked out. Surprisingly, Granger had not been one of the first, in fact she had held her own longer than some of the players.

Draco was proud to be one of the last remaining students not to be struck out when Taira halted all the Bludgers. The others were Blaise, surprisingly Weasley and naturally Potter.

"Well done, gentlemen," Taira nodded satisfactorily at them. "You've earned a break. Take a seat. The rest of you – back into the circle."

The class trudged back into the circle while the surviving quartet left and seated themselves on the grass just outside the circle.

"Tell me, did any of you note any specific strategies that our survivors employed?"

There was a moment of silence before Macmillan said, "Ron and Harry were standing together, looking out for each other."

"Indeed. Teamwork is important. You do not have eyes in the back of your head, thus it is always beneficial to have someone watch your back, and vice versa. Pair up if you wish, or work in groups of three.

"I want to see an improvement in your staying time. Those of you who successfully last more than ten minutes will sit the next round out."

The Bludgers rose into the air and began their assault a new. Draco watched the others try to grasp the concept of teamwork. Again, the Quidditch players were far more adept at working cooperatively. Some of the others were far too consumed in watching someone else's back to even watch their own front. 

That session only had one survivor – Granger. Draco was mildly impressed. He had never pegged her for someone possessing any kind of agility that wasn't mental. Yet she was the only one who had worked solo and survived.

Taira called them all back into the circle, save for Granger, and the Bludgers, plus an additional one, soared again. The rest of the double period was spent dodging Bludgers and analysing their strategies. Eventually, all of the class had survived at least ten minutes.

This was by far the most interesting Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson Draco had had. For one, he realised that many of his classmates possessed no grace whatsoever; it was quite hilarious watching them fumble and trip over their own feet around the pitch. He also discovered with amazement and a smidgen of envy that Potter was actually quite as agile on the ground as he was in air.

In the last ten minutes of the class, Taira finally called the exercise to a halt. She provided them with bottles of water as she looked at some of her students critically.

"For people in their mid teens, you are all surprisingly unfit," she said, "I'm guessing your idea of regular exercise is walking up the Astronomy Tower?"

Some of them chuckled, others coloured slightly. 

She continued, "For your own benefit, I would suggest you work on the physical aspect as well as your magical. Though I will not hold lessons of this nature often, there will be future classes that will test your brawns as much as your brains." Taira smiled then dismissed the class early.

As they all returned to the classroom to collect their bags, Draco feared that this was the kind of basic training that Taira was going to put him through in their one-to-one sessions. He hoped not. Even if he was out of practice, Draco had already proven his swordsmanship.

Well, he would find out later that day.

The last bell for the day rang, and Draco left the Transfiguration classroom hurriedly and headed to Taira's office. He was feeling a trifle nervous, though he could not understand why. What was there to be nervous about?

"Mister Malfoy." Taira inclined her head courteously. "Follow me."

She led Draco to the eastern side of the Castle again. Draco committed to memory the route they were taking. Taira had said that he was to find his way here on his own; he wasn't going to embarrass himself by being late to his sessions because he got lost.

The room was large, bigger than the average classroom. The walls were bare save for several weapons' racks hanging upon them. The floor was almost covered with a straw coloured mat, leaving a two feet margin between the edge of the mat and the walls. The room was well lit by sources unseen.

"There are rules you will adhere to," Taira said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument, "No visitors. No shoes on the mat. No weapons are to leave this room. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Excellent. Now go get changed. The changing room is there and everything you need is in locker number four. That is the only locker that will open for you. Once your session is complete, return everything to the locker; it will be cleaned and ready for your next lesson."

Draco nodded and did as he was told. When he emerged he was dressed similar to Taira – heavy linen trousers and a black fitting top. The only difference was that Taira wore fingerless gloves that spanned wrist to upper arms.

"Show me again, what you are capable of, Mister Malfoy." She gestured to a rack of swords, as a roguish smile curled her lips. "This time, I won't hold back."

Draco smirked back – at least he wasn't made to dodge Bludgers.

An hour and a half later, Draco was prone of the floor, ridden with exhaustion. He had done his utmost to best Taira, but she was simply much more experienced than he was. With every defeat, Taira would point out his mistakes. His immediate reaction was to take offence, for nobody criticises a Malfoy. Fortunately, a glimmer of common sense broke through his conditioned indignation and reminded him that he was here to learn. If he could not accept his flaws, how was he to correct them?

He doubted he improved very much, but from Taira's tone of satisfaction every time he successfully executed an attack, he knew he was at least making some progress.

Taira walked over and looked down at him. "You need to build your stamina, Mister Malfoy. That will be your first and ongoing assignment. I will expect to see some improvement in two weeks. Next week, we are going to work on your hand-to-hand combat skills."

Draco sat up but did not rise. "Yes, Professor."

"Normally, the training session would be two hours long but seeing that this is your first, and it is Halloween, you may go." Taira extended her hand to Draco.

Taking her hand, Draco stood then bowed to her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Taira bowed back then made to leave. "Be certain the door is shut when you leave and enjoy the feast."

Draco cocked his head slightly then asked. "You won't be there?"

Taira paused by the door. "No."

"I see." Draco nodded, attempting to suppress the burning desire to ask why. He failed. "May I ask why?"

An indulgent smile lifted the corners of her lips. "You may."

"But you may not answer?" Draco finished, sensing the unspoken condition.

She regarded him silently for a moment. "Inquisitive and astute. Let's just say, I lost people who were very important to me on Halloween. This is not a day of celebration for me."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Draco replied, feeling a little guilty about prying.

"Thank you. You should get changed, Mister Malfoy, you don't want to be late for feast." With that she left the training room.

~*~

After his first Halloween Feast in the Great Hall, the novelty of floating pumpkins and fluttering bats had worn off. This was a feast like any other – the tables were laden with rich and scrumptious food and the ambience was loud and excited. 

If Draco had not been hungry, he doubted he would've participated in the feast. At least the last rumour about him had also lost its novelty as well, thus the general chattering of the crowd was no longer aimed at him.

Once the feast had concluded, Draco made a move to leave. To his surprise, Blaise laid a hand on his arm asking where he was going.

"Bed, I'm tired."

"No, you're not."

"You would presume to tell me what to do?" Draco narrowed his eyes at the other boy.

"Yes." Blaise replied crisply, and steered Draco away from the mass returning to the dormitories. "You're going to join the party."

"I don't see the point," Draco grumbled to Blaise as they made their way to the Castle ballroom.

The ballroom was half the size of the Great Hall and often used to host smaller events that did not involve the whole school. As customary, the Years Sixes and Sevens were allowed to have a party after the Halloween feast. While a couple of teachers and ghosts were officially nominated to be chaperones, they often made themselves scarce, preferring to give the older students their privacy.

"There is no point. Are you incapable of having fun?" Blaise pinned him with an exasperated look.

"This is not my definition of fun. A themed Halloween party? What are we? Twelve?" Draco rolled his eyes. "A party, might I add, that was organised by Hufflepuffs. I'm sure it'll be a fun-filled night of pinning the tail on the donkey and charades."

Blaise burst out laughing. "Did I say we were going to be playing silly games with them? Pansy and I have more interesting things in store."

An elegant eyebrow rose. "Oh? What might your nefarious plans be? And why haven't I been told?"

"I'm telling you now. We've got a cocktail of amusing potions and elixirs which we were going to spike the drinks with." Blaise opened up his cloak a fraction to reveal he was wearing a holster of colourful vials.

"Traditionally, spikes are done with alcohol."

"Oh, hang the tradition. You asked me once, have I no sense of the sensational? I'm trying to prove myself." Blaise winked.

Draco chuckled. "There is no need to prove yourself to me, Blaise. Nevertheless, I am intrigued by your scheme. What manner of potions have you in store?"

"Now, that would be telling." The other boy smirked diabolically.

"You don't know, do you?" Draco asked with a smirk. "Pansy's the one who got all the potions, isn't she? And I'm guessing she didn't label them – it would make it more interesting."

"Damn, am I that transparent?"

"Absolutely. If she's in charge of getting the potions, what are you doing?"

"Applying them of course. Pansy may be quite adept in potion farming, but she's about as stealthy as an elephant. Poisoning someone's glass requires finesse and grace."

"This, I have to see." 

"Absolutely not!" Blaise shook his head. "I don't need you watching my every move. You'll give me away. You'll see the results soon enough. Now go away, Malfoy, you're cramping my style." With that Blaise wandered off to survey the ballroom.

As usual, Draco was one of the last to arrive. The room was decorated accordingly. Whoever thought of the theme of _angels and devils_ should have been hexed. It was tacky and it reeked of Muggle. Never in his life had Draco dressed up for Halloween; he knew that was a Muggle tradition and it had long since become a farce. He was disappointed that the magical community had adopted it.

Samhain, as Halloween was traditionally known, was a time of worship and reverence. It marked the beginning of the winter solstice and for the old worship, the New Year. Admittedly, it was also a time where people indulged in the unusual and pranks, a tradition that flourished in Ireland once, but it would seem that modern times had shed the hallowed significance of the day and only kept the boozing and the revelling.

Entertaining the idea of getting a drink briefly, Draco decided that it was too risky. Though Blaise had said he was going to be spiking individual glasses, Draco would not put it past him to poison the punch bowl as well. Moreover, he had spotted Pansy near it moments ago. Even if she possessed no stealth in poisoning a glass, Draco was sure she could've quite easily tipped a vial into a punchbowl.

He spotted Crabbe and Goyle skulking in one corner; Nott was with them. Draco briefly wondered if Nott had supplanted him in that trio. In all honesty, Draco would be relieved if he had. While he had not rescinded his tutoring for the pair, Draco needed brighter and more interesting companions. He needed equals, not underlings.

Grey eyes fell upon the boy whom Draco had deemed his own equal. Blaise had an amicable smile on his face, but his eyes shone of cunning. He was chatting to Macmillan, gesticulating wildly. Draco recognised that it was a diversionary tactic – somewhere between waving his hands and flapping his arms, Blaise had slipped a dose of Pansy's potion into Macmillan's glass. With that one done, Blaise glided on to his next victim.

From across the room, Blaise caught Draco's eyes and winked salaciously.

"God, I think I'm going to be sick," a voice, dripping with contempt, said behind Draco.

"Oh, Ron!" a second voice exclaimed exasperatedly.

Draco turned and studied the pair, wondering where Potter was and if he should waste his breath insulting them.

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Too much of a fag to fight back?" Weasley said maliciously.

Chuckling, Draco replied. "Too much of a gentleman to trifle with the likes of you. I would rather not wallow in the filth with you. So where is your poster child? Getting his hair done for a grand entrance?"

"Harry's not as vain as you, Malfoy," Granger retorted.

"Nobody's is as vain as you," Weasley added maliciously.

"You say it like it's a bad thing." Draco smirked. "At least vanity has given me enough fashion sense not to dress like a hill-billy and a catholic school librarian."

Weasley clenched his fists, but Granger laid her hand on his arm. "Come on, Ron. He's not worth our time."

"Yes, toodle on, Potterettes." Draco waved them off flippantly. "Your company is neither requested nor appreciated."

With matching glares of abhorrence, Granger led Weasley away. Draco awarded them with an arrogant sneer as they left, then wondered if Blaise was good enough to spike their drink. He looked around for the other boy when suddenly the first of the potion effects came into play.

A Ravenclaw whose name Draco did not know had turned completely sky blue – from his hair right down to his toenails. The crowd burst out in hysterical laughter. Dressed only in white, the Ravenclaw resembled a five-foot-eight Smurf.

Not too far away, a loud pop interrupted the laughter as Macmillan sprouted a pair of horns upon his forehead. How apt that he was costumed as a demon.

A mix of excitement, wariness and annoyance swept through the party revellers. No one knew what was causing these bizarre effects; some thought that it was all part of the entertainment, others were worried they might be the next victim. All in all there was a measure of chaos, and Pansy and Blaise were wetting themselves with laughter.

Deciding that he needed a better vantage point to see further developments of Pansy and Blaise's prank, Draco surveyed the ballroom. He looked up and found that this ballroom, like every other he had been in, indeed had a viewing gallery. After a brief search he located the stairwell tucked away in a hidden corner and ascended it.

The gallery was unlit, luxuriously carpeted and furnished with plush chaise lounge placed in measured intervals. There were no other adornments, and Draco surmised that it was not used. Embraced by the darkness, he was confident that no one could see him from below. He began to walk along the balustrade watching the crowd, enjoying the show. More people were going through physical transformations; some began acting strangely and without inhibitions. 

In a far corner of the ballroom, Draco noted that Blaise had managed to corner Granger. Heaven knew what the boy had slipped into her drink because for a change she wasn't scowling at him. Draco wondered where the red-haired ape of her boyfriend was. Perhaps Pansy had poisoned him too, one could always hope.

As he made his way round, Draco was surprised to see that he was not the only one who had found the gallery. 

Dressed in black, Draco almost missed him. Potter was seated upon the carpet, leaning against a pillar, his knees drawn up. Green eyes met grey and the customary contest of wills was initiated. After a moment, Draco noticed that Potter's usual fiery temperament was somewhat lacking.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Potter asked somewhat wearily.

"What makes you so sure I want anything from you?" Draco looked down his nose at the other boy.

"Because you always want something from someone." Potter took a swig from the bottle in his hand. "Praise, recognition, sympathy, insults, whatever – it doesn't matter if it's sincere or not, just as long as you're getting attention."

Draco felt the sting, annoyed that Potter actually made an accurate assessment of his general characteristic, even if he would not admit. "If I wanted any of those, you'd be the last person I go to."

"Hmm, sure," Potter muttered.

"Oh stop, your barbed retorts are fracturing my fragile ego," Draco mocked.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Potter said, somewhat lacking his usual conviction

"Seriously, you're breaking my heart here."

Potter turned to look at Draco briefly but said nothing. He merely snorted then continued staring into space. It seemed like he was trying to fob Draco off.

It was maddening when trying to pick a fight with someone who's erected a wall of indifference. Normally, the mere presence of one Draco Malfoy was enough to send Harry Potter into a tailspin. That night, Potter seemed like he couldn't care less and it was annoying Draco to no end. 

Strangely enough, it also intrigued him.

"Do you enjoy it?" Potter asked after a few moments of silence.

"Enjoy what exactly?"

"Being a prick."

Draco snorted. "I could ask you the same."

Potter looked at Draco with unfocused eyes, and then replied. "Touché."

A small smiled tugged at Draco's lips as he seated himself on the chaise opposite Potter. "You're not in costume," he noted.

"Neither are you."

"I'm the devil in disguise." Draco shrugged nonchalantly.

"That's not a costume; it's your everyday role."

Draco chuckled. Potter, surprisingly, had a measure of dry wit too. Draco moved to lie upon the chaise lounge, facing Potter. He then smirked, asking, "Shouldn't you be down there herding your Potterettes? Heaven knows they should stray into dangerous grounds without their illustrious leader. There are evil Slytherins lurking about."

"Are you threatening my friends?" Potter demanded.

"Such a crass action is beneath me." Draco tossed his head indignantly.

Potter snorted. "You think everything is beneath you, Malfoy. Isn't the air a little bit thin up where you are?"

"I like the view from up here." Draco leered.

"Stop flirting with me, Malfoy. I don't need anymore rubbish generated about you and me."

Draco burst out laughing. "Again you call me arrogant, but you're no different. You, too, think very highly of yourself."

"I am _nothing_ like you!" Potter exclaimed hotly, slamming the bottle down on the carpet. A generous amount of alcohol sloshed over his trousers.

"Oh, please, Potter. I didn't say that to flatter myself. The idea that you and I actually have similarities is just as chilling to me."

"Bugger off! I was here first."

"Territorial, too."

"Shut up, Malfoy." Potter took a large gulp from his bottle. He then took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Chuckling to himself, Draco studied his rival briefly. "Why are you here, alone, drinking yourself to a stupor?"

"Mind your own business."

"No. Tell me." Draco prodded. "After our bonding session over dirty dishes, I would think that we should be sharing our deepest and darkest secrets."

Potter goggled at him incredulously. Draco realised that behind those god-awful glasses, Potter actually had attractive features. Even the vivid scar that made him oh-so-famous contributed to his allure.

"Just because I can't see you doesn't mean I don't know you're staring, Malfoy," Potter said tersely.

"An idol like you should be used to all the attention."

"How would you like it if I gawped at you?"

Draco chuckled. "Gawp all you like. I know I'm beautiful."

"Argh!" Potter growled. "Shut up!"

"You asked, I answered. Now it's your turn."

"What?"

"Answer my question," Draco replied evenly, his voice carrying a tone that brooked no argument.

However, Potter seemed rather impervious to Draco's command. "Like you care!"

"Stop beating around the bush, Potter. You know you want to tell me. Otherwise you'd have got off your drunken arse and staggered into another hiding hole to wallow in self-pity. Getting pity from someone else is always more rewarding, so tell me your sordid tale."

Potter glowered at Draco. "If you must know, I'm trying to give Ron and Hermione some space."

"Could it be unrequited love that's driven you to the bottle?" Draco declared melodramatically.

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"So are you holding the torch for him or her?"

" _Shut up!_ I'm not like you!"

"I thought we established the fact earlier that you are a lot more like me than you would admit." Draco waggled his eyebrows lecherously. Making Potter squirm, Draco realised, was just as much fun, if not more, than making him lose his temper. "And stop shouting, your voice will carry down to the crowd below, and then they're going to realise that you're up here all alone, in the dark with the queer, Draco Malfoy. Think of the scandal."

Potter gawked at Draco again – it was seemingly his favourite expression that night. A snort escaped from Potter which then turned into somewhat hysterical laughing. Draco briefly wondered if Blaise had spiked Potter's drink.

"You're not Malfoy, are you?"

"What?" Draco blinked at him.

"Is that you, Ron? Or Seamus?"

"I don't think I've ever been so insulted!" Draco sniffed indignantly.

Potter carried on without acknowledging Draco's comments, "If Fred and George were still here, I would've thought that it was one of them. It's the Polyjuice Potion, isn't it? You almost had me fooled!"

Draco studied the cackling Potter, the cogs in his mind churning. Perhaps he could work this to his advantage. A smile curved his lips as Draco said, "What gave me away?"

"Malfoy being decent. God, I'm so plastered, for a moment there I believed you were actually him. Who put you up to this?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Thought you needed a laugh." Draco nearly choked on the next word. "Mate..."

"Yeah, thanks."

Once Potter had stopped giggling, Draco asked, "So are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

Potter shrugged and looked away. "Everything?"

"That's quite a lot of things. Do you think drinking yourself silly is the answer? Not to mention you are under aged."

"Don't care."

"That's the spirit!" Draco chuckled.

"Stop talking. Get drunk. I really don't want to hear Malfoy's voice droning at me."

"What's wrong with Malfoy's voice?"

"Too high pitched."

"High pitched?" Draco exclaimed. Oh, Potter will pay for that.

"Yeah, especially when you do that." Potter took another mouthful. "I don't think I know anyone else who can manage to leer with their voice."

"It's an art form, you philistine!" Draco snapped then snatched the bottle from Potter to take a swig. He choked and spluttered. "Gah! What is this swill you are drinking?"

"Dunno."

"Don't know?"

"Dunno."

Draco shook his head and sighed, handing the bottle back to the other boy. Potter was both amusing and intriguing when he was drunk. He swung from being depressed to hysterical like a pendulum on a grandfather clock. He had always seemed rather uptight and completely straight-laced when he was sober. Granted, he broke the occasional rule due to his hero-complex, but Draco had never imagined him to be rebellious just for the sake of it.

Potter took the bottle back gratefully and continued to drink. 

"How do you think Malfoy's doing?" Potter suddenly asked.

Draco hid his surprise; did Potter customarily speak to Weasley or Finnigan about him? "What do you mean?"

"About his father and all."

"I thought you despised all things Malfoy."

"Maybe. But still, it's not nice to lose a parent."

"Lucius Malfoy is not dead."

"No, guess not. Well, I have no sympathy for him – that twisted evil bastard. Is it any wonder that Malfoy's such a prick? Not to mention having a murdering lunatic for an aunt; that can't do him any good."

Gritting his teeth, Draco forced a response, "So is that it? You pity Malfoy now?"

Potter shrugged. "Why are we talking about him?"

"You brought him up."

"Oh, yeah..."

Grey eyes rolled exasperatedly.

"Budge up," Potter then slurred as he moved towards the chaise lounge unsteadily. "The floor's kinda hard. My arse's all numb."

Before Draco even had the chance to move, Potter crawled over his lap and collapsed in a drunken heap. 

"Hey!" Draco protested, but Potter did not react. The boy hoped that Potter had not killed himself with whatever he was drinking. Now wouldn't the media have a field day? Draco could see the headlines now – _Harry Potter found dead on the lap of son of convicted Death Eater._

Draco thought of just standing up and letting Potter fall; it would serve Potter right, but even after all the insults Draco had gotten that night, a shred of decency overruled his vindictiveness. 

Yet another change that was occurring in him that Draco did not understand.

Taking a little more care, Draco extricated himself from the chaise lounge. He wasn't exactly gentle, but at least Potter stayed in the chaise lounge. It was good enough. 

Draco took one last look at his nemesis before heading down to the ballroom again. It had been quite an interesting day. Draco wondered how much of their conversation Potter would remember the next day and if it was worth blackmailing the other boy.


	7. Chapter Six – Gryffindor Victory

"Wake up, Draco."

"Draco! Get up!" 

Rough hands shook him.

"Stop manhandling me, Parkinson. Have you both lost your sense of self-preservation?" Draco cracked open an eye and glowered at them.

"It's important," Pansy protested

"Nail polish is important to you," he muttered.

"Read this," Blaise simply said then dropped a magazine over Draco's face. "We thought you should have a gander at this before you go down for breakfast."

Draco grumbled as he sat up, "I wasn't planning on breakfast, plebeian. So what is so earth-shattering that managed to get both your knickers in a twist?" He picked up the magazine that had slid down to his lap and leaved through it.

Just as he asked the question, he came across the words, in bold and in the center spread – _Sins of the Fathers_. 

Draco suppressed a groan. There were pictures of him, Crabbe, Nott and a couple of younger children that looked vaguely familiar. 

"Matthias Avery is in Year Four and Josephine McNair is in Year Two," Pansy supplied. Trust Pansy to know who's who in Slytherin.

Rita Skeeter had published her so-called exclusive, despite his threat. That woman was either very brave, or she had already had a contingency in place should Draco make true his threat. He briefly contemplated the benefit of getting even with her, wondering if she was worth the effort.

"Well, at least they chose a nice photograph of me," Draco commented nonchalantly. It was one of him in his Quidditch robes and broom. Occasionally, the Draco in the photo would mount his broom and zoom across the pages upsetting some of the print in the process.

Blaise rolled his eyes and Draco smirked at him.

Pansy glared at Draco. "Aren't you even going to read it?"

"Why bother? I know you're going to tell me all about it because you've read every word of it. I can't believe you guys woke me up for this."

"You sound like you were expecting this," Blaise said, his voice tinted with accusation.

"I was."

"And you didn't tell us?"

"You seem to be under the illusion that I tell you everything, Zabini." Draco laughed derisively. "I don't, I won't, and I'm very likely to never do that. Get used to it."

"Goddamned it, Draco. Must you always shut us out when the shit has hit the fan?" Blaise demanded.

Draco scowled at him. "You're overreacting."

"And you're underestimating Skeeter."

"It's a gossip article in a tabloid not worth the paper it's printed on. Why do I care? Moreover, after last year's malarkey with the _Prophet_ hiding the truth about the Dark Lord, do you think the media has any great influence these days?"

Pansy snatched the magazine from Draco and began reading. _"They say the apple does not fall far from the tree,_ Rita Skeeter writes. _And in the light of the recent conviction of ten Death Eaters, we must be wary of the legacy that they have left their children."_

"Oo, a bedtime story, how exciting," Draco exclaimed sardonically as he snuggled back into bed.

Pansy ignored him and continued reading. _"While they are still considered children in the eyes of the law, sources reveal that their careers at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have been just as colourful as their fathers'."_

"Skip to the interesting parts, Pansy, where we were scandalising goats and sacrificing Mudbloods for our serpentine gods in exchange of nubile young women and world domination."

"Draco!" Pansy exclaimed in frustration.

"Look, Pansy, darling," Draco said in a patronising tone. "I don't care what it says. I am confident enough in myself to not require the approval of the ignorant peasants. If you really are that worried why don't you go see how the others are doing? Impart some of your maternal comfort on those who need it."

"You're just trying to get rid of me!" She pouted.

"Beautiful and smart!" Draco exclaimed. "Now be gone."

She looked as though she was torn between being amused and angry with him. However she did take that infernal magazine with her and strut out of the boys' dormitory.

Blaise looked at Draco with a studious expression.

"What?" Draco asked.

"I do so envy your way with women."

"Oh, shut it!"

~*~

The arrival of November had ushered in the autumn rains, and Draco was grateful that he wasn't playing in the match that day. While the rain was nothing more than a steady drizzle, it was enough to soak the players on the pitch before long. Add the gale force wind indigenous to the Scottish Highlands Draco could imagine that it would be rather cold out there.

Tucked in the stands with the other excited students, Draco was sufficiently warm and quite dry. He drew his eyes to a red clad Seeker and smirked to himself.

While inadvertently getting Potter banned from Quidditch was a highlight of their fifth year, Draco had to admit that losing a worthy rival on the pitch had somewhat diminished the game. Notwithstanding, once Umbridge had resigned her commission, all bans were rescinded, and Potter was promptly restored to his former position of Gryffindor Seeker then subsequently promoted to Captain.

Potter was circling the pitch above the commotion of the main game. Soaked, his hair was plastered to his skull. Occasionally he would run his fingers through his fringe to sweep it out of his eyes. This was a rare occasion where his hair was not standing up like a windblown hedgehog.

Draco was paying little heed to the game. As far as he was concerned the only good player in Gryffindor-Ravenclaw games was Potter. The others played like amateurs and their strategies were so humdrum they were practically lifted out of textbooks. Draco knew Gryffindor would win because the only way Potter would miss the Snitch was if he fell off his broom. Even then there was always the chance that he'd catch the confounded thing on his way down to intimately embrace mother earth.

Skill or dumb luck, Draco didn't know, but he found it very infuriating.

Potter glided through the air with an intrinsic agility that was utterly disgusting. While it could not be denied that Draco himself was a superb flier, the elegance he had was meticulously schooled. Potter may not be elegant in flying, but there was a sense of wild abandon in him, and that lent an air of natural grace that made him impressive.

Potter flew by sheer instinct while Draco calculated his moves. Potter encouraged his broomstick to act upon his wishes, Draco commanded his. That was the fundamental difference in their approach to flying; notwithstanding their ultimate goal was the same.

Against others, their individual styles had not failed them. However against one another, Draco had yet to triumph. 

_Dumb luck,_ Draco thought somewhat savagely, _Definitely dumb luck._

Potter made another lap of the pitch, keeping an eye out for the Snitch and his counterpart – Cho Chang. The Ravenclaw Seeker had always been speedy, but she lacked manoeuvrability when compared to Potter and Draco himself. The only way she could possibly win was if the Snitch willingly flied into her open palm. 

Unfortunately for her, the Snitch was never that obliging.

Draco spotted the Snitch first. It was fluttering by the base of the Ravenclaw center goal post. For a few moments neither one of the Seekers had seen it, then suddenly, without warning, Potter dived. The crowd went mad and even the Chasers slowed in their play. Chang swung her broom around and pelted towards Potter.

The Snitch, as if sensing his predators, sped off and Potter gave chase. Chang tried very hard to catch up, but the erratic flight path that the Snitch was taking proved a little too challenging for her. Potter on the other hand, followed it flawlessly.

Draco watched with a measure of awe as Potter twirled and looped in the air, dancing to the beat that the Snitch had set. As Draco admitted that Potter was indeed graceful, a pang of jealousy bloomed in his heart.

He could not help but wonder bitterly if Potter was gracious enough to have any respect and awe for him.

As expected, Gryffindor won, with two hundred and ten points. That would mean the next game Slytherin played against Gryffindor would determine which of whom would win. It was no surprise. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw simply weren't good enough to compare.

"You can roll your tongue back in now, he's gone off the pitch," a voice whispered into his ear making him start. It was laden with mockery. "Drooling is very unbecoming for one such as yourself."

Draco snapped his head around to glare at Blaise, who was leering at him. Blaise leaned in again and whispered, "Don't worry, I won't get jealous, just as long as I remain your favourite."

Draco snorted. "Remain? Blaise, you'll have to gain that position first."

"Ouch, that hurts, Draco."

"Good." Draco smirked maliciously.

Blaise chuckled then wandered off with the rest of the crowd retreating from the stands. Draco cast one last glance towards the changing room, scowled at it as if it had personally affronted the boy, then tossed his head indignantly and swept back into the Castle regally.

While the first half of the day was dominated by the excitement of the match, the evening dwindled down to a verdant breeding ground for gossip. Now that everyone had exhausted the topic of Quidditch, they were looking for another excuse to waggle their tongues. Skeeter's article was the natural choice.

For the second time in as many weeks, Draco and his fellow Slytherins were the center of attention. For the second time, it was attention that Draco would happily not receive, despite what Potter had said about him needing all kinds of attention.

_"Malfoy is well known for his totalitarian approach to getting what he wants," a Hogwarts student, who wishes to remain unnamed, said._

Draco wondered if that source was actually real seeing that he doubted any student could actually pronounce 'totalitarian' much less use it correctly in a sentence.

_"He's always bullying the other students, and of course no one dares oppose him," another said._

Bullying? Since when has ignoring people been considered bullying? He couldn't care enough about ninety-nine point nine percent of the student body to waste time bullying them. They feared him because they chose to, and he got blamed for their weakness?

_"We don't want to risk getting hurt by his bodyguards."_

Bodyguards, riiiiiiight. Sure, Crabbe and Goyle were often seen in his company in their early years at Hogwarts, and of course they were much burlier than he, but to say that they were there to protect him was an insult. They kept him company because they were indubitably instructed by their fathers to do so, and Draco doubted that either of them would be so valiant and altruistic to sacrifice themselves for him. A pair of menacing stone gargoyles would probably serve just as well as the said bodyguards.

_The Malfoys' obvious connection to the Blacks should have been indicative of their inevitable transgression against the British Magical community. The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black has spawned two of You-Know-Who's most infamous followers – Sirius Black and his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange – both of whom are still at large._

Naturally, she would drag the Blacks into the whole sordid affair. They were after all known to the world as scum of the earth, as dark as their name implied.

_With a heritage of this nature, the young Draco Malfoy will face difficult times if he is to restore the former respect and honour of the Malfoy family, if he so chooses._

He was rather vexed that they would presume to tell him what to do; implying that if he came to them on bended knees they would forgive him and let him back into the community.

_Even as the community looks upon these children with wary eyes, we must ask ourselves this – should they be judged by the sins of their fathers?_

Draco liked this one – it made him laugh. No one had judged them as much as Skeeter had in her ludicrous article, and here she was asking if it was right to do so?

The most surprising thing about the article was that it made no mention of Draco's newly confessed sexuality. Surely those unnamed sources had caught wind of that particular rumour. A part of Draco was mildly bothered that Rita may feel that his diversity warranted a whole article on its own. He certainly wouldn't put it past her to embellish such a humdrum revelation. Like Blaise had said – _"Anything pertaining the indomitable Draco Malfoy is sensational!"_

Draco had valiantly tried to accomplish some work in the library, thinking that Madam Pince would have exerted her despotic reign in keeping the place quiet, but alas she seemed quite undisturbed by the incessant whispering. In fact, she was participating as well.

He rose from his seat and gathered the library books. Ambling down the isle to return the books to the shelves he came upon the last person he wanted to see.

Potter.

Draco glared. Potter stared.

Was it sympathy that Draco saw in malachite eyes? He resented it and his familiar mask of arrogance and indifference slipped into place.

"Come to have another gape at the latest celebrity? I would've thought after all the time we spend together chatting, you'd have committed me to your memory. Of course, I am far more impressive in the flesh."

Potter gave him a weary look and sighed. "Yeah, Malfoy. I'm just here so I can gawk at you and scream your name in hysterics. Never mind the fact that this is a public place and Hogwarts really isn't all that big. After all, the sole purpose of my existence is to swoon and fawn over you."

For a moment, Draco merely stared back blankly. Sarcasm from Potter wasn't quite what he had expected, nor was the tone of apathy in his voice. Draco then concluded that Potter had changed over the summer too, evidently even more dramatically than Draco himself had.

"Granger, I want a word with you!" Pansy's loud voice sliced through Draco's moment of contemplation.

He turned to peer through the shelves to see Pansy stalking into one of the study rooms. Curious, Draco moved closer to eavesdrop on them. Fortunately, Pansy had left the door ajar.

When Potter swept past Draco, he reached out to grab the Gryffindor's robes. He pulled Potter back and whispered harshly, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Potter growled back, "If you think I'm going to leave Hermione on her own with -"

"I'm not thinking, I'm telling!" Draco interrupted.

"No!" Potter struggled out of Draco grip.

Curling his fingers around his wand in the pocket, Draco concentrated his will towards Potter whispered, _"Petrificus totalus."_ Potter's body became rigid instantly and tipped backwards. Draco rushed forward to catch him before he landed noisily. The last thing Draco wanted was to draw attention to the fact that he had hexed Potter and had done it in the library as well. 

Laying the Gryffindor down, Draco smirked at him. "Stay. Good boy." Draco then skirted towards the study room.

"I don't see how that is any of your business," Granger said coldly.

"You are wrong, it is my business," Pansy retorted. "I'm warning you, Granger, stay away from Blaise."

 _Blaise?_ Draco thought, suppressing a laugh, _They are fighting over Blaise? Since when did Blaise get involved with Granger? Could it be that Pansy did in fact have feelings for Blaise?_ Draco would have to have a word with Blaise.

Granger snorted. "One, I don't take orders from you. Two, whom I spend my time with is absolutely none of your business. And three, I have absolutely no intention of sacrificing my grades because of your insecurities. Blaise's fidelity is not my concern. Frankly, I'm insulted that you would insinuate that I am doing anything but an assignment with him."

"Just because you have bewitched Potter and Krum -"

At that Granger burst out laughing. "Oh, sing a new tune, Parkinson, that one is getting old. Just because I know how to make friends and you don't, I won't be held responsible for your lack of them. And besides, isn't Malfoy's new found fame enough to satisfy you?"

Draco could imagine Granger's sly smirk and Pansy's flushed cheeks as he heard his fellow Slytherin's stream of florid curses.

Footsteps approached and as Draco melted further into the darkness, Blaise swept into the room.

"Good evening, ladies," he said charmingly. "What are you doing here Pansy?"

"Ensuring that your virtue will remain intact when you are in my company," Granger replied dryly.

Draco suppressed another chuckle while Blaise laughed heartily. The Gryffindor had quite a sharp edge to her tongue.

"Silly girl," Blaise said. "Run along now, Pansy, Granger and I have work to do."

Pansy stormed out of the room in full rage, woe betide upon anyone foolish enough to cross her. Draco heard the scraping of wooden legs upon stone floor – Blaise must have sat down. 

"Where were we?" he asked.

Without deliberation Granger launched into a soliloquy about their Ancient Runes project. Surprisingly, she spoke to him without rancour, even if it was with a rather professional tone of voice. Draco listened for a few minutes before leaving them to their work. It was evident that Blaise's virtue would undoubtedly remain pure, if indeed it hadn't already been tainted.

Draco ambled back to where he had left Potter lying. He stood over the other boy, looking down at him with a grin. "You missed an interesting conversation, Potter. Now if you hadn't tried to be a hero again, you might have had the opportunity to listen too. As for your insatiable need to protect Granger, I daresay she is capable of doing it herself." Draco chuckled. "You really should give her the benefit of the doubt."

Taking his wand out of his pocket, Draco pointed it at Potter and whispered, _"Finite."_

Potter scrambled to his feet immediately and landed a punch in Draco's gut. Winded, Draco doubled up and cursed. Although he was anticipating a retaliatory hex, he certainly wasn't prepared for a punch.

"Don't _ever_ stand in my way of me protecting my friends, Malfoy," Potter hissed in his ear, his voice pregnant with a chilling malice. "Next time, I won't be so forgiving."

Never one to back down so easily, Draco curled his hand into a fist and cracked Potter in the jaw. Potter staggered back and dislodged a few books from their shelves

Potter moved to kick Draco, but Draco was fast enough to block and grab hold of Potter's ankle. With a diabolical grin, he threw Potter off his feet. Potter landed with a loud thud but did not stay down. Rolling onto his feet, he remained crouched then spun and swept Draco's feet from under him. 

More books came crashing down on them. The boys exchanged murderous glances, but before they could launch a fresh attack, Madam Pince had hexed them both with the Impediment Curse.

"How dare you?" she screeched at them, "You were warned once, gentlemen! If I find you both fighting in the library again, you will be banned indefinitely. Thirty points each from Slytherin and Gryffindor! Now, please remove yourselves from this establishment, and I don't want to see either of you till Monday!"

 _Bloody Potter,_ Draco thought savagely as the Dictator of the Library marched them out of her domain. He was at least thankful that she did not put them in detention. 

The heavy doors slammed shut behind them. Draco cast a venomous glance at Potter, only to find a matching expression on his face. They sized each other up for a brief moment before wands were drawn.

"Careful now, Potter," Draco lips curled into a wicked smile, "Do you really want to hex me? After all, with a twisted evil bastard for a father and a murdering lunatic for an aunt, who knows what I might be willing and capable to do to you?"

Potter's expression slowly morphed into one of fuzzy recognition. "What did you say?" he demanded in a low whisper. Draco knew then that Potter remembered their conversation at Halloween Night and now realised that it was really Draco and not some cheap knockoff Gryffindor imitation.

"Isn't that what you said of the most infamous members of my family in your drunken stupor? I'm surprised you didn't mention my cousin Sirius Black being a mass murderer too."

"You shut up about Sirius!"

"Oh, of course, he was framed, wasn't he?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"Make me."

The hallway lit up like Guy Fawkes Night. 

Draco had managed to land a few hits and received a few himself. He knew that he and Potter would've carried on if not for a few foolish second years wandering out of the library straight into the crossfire. Draco couldn't care less, but Potter was obviously quite troubled by hitting a few innocents. On top of that, a teacher had seemingly materialised in the hallway.

"What are we going to do with you, gentlemen?" Taira said in a grave tone after she had directed a couple of passing perfects to escort the victimised second years to the hospital wing. "You're both prominent members of your house, yet you act like spoilt children fighting for that last piece of candy. For the love of all things magical, start being the decent role models that everyone has had the misfortune of thinking you are! Twenty points from each house will be deducted. Now return to your dorms."

Draco stood rooted glaring at Potter for a full minute, so did Potter.

"Don't make me repeat myself, gentlemen," Taira said ominously.

With one last look of abhorrence, the boys parted way and headed back to their respective dormitories.

When he returned to the Slytherin common room, the atmosphere was somewhat subdued and fearful. Draco could guess what had caused the tension, but in all honestly he didn't really care. Some of them were looking expectantly at him, as if he should have some inspirational words to tell them, while others looked as if he was the latest scourge of Slytherin's good name.

It was evident now that the house had been divided – to some he had fallen from his mantle as a leader, while others still had faith in him. The more he thought about it, the more he realised Blaise was far more astute than Draco gave him credit for. He noted those who had ousted him from their good favour were largely from old Pureblood families – they were the ones who saw him as Malfoy. Disgrace of one member of the family was disgrace to all. On the other hand, those who still regarded him with a measure of respect were people who had seen him as Draco, even if they did not refer to him in the familiar.

At that moment in time, Draco actually wished that no one saw him at all.

He found it ironic that in the last five years he had often craved the attention that Potter got, but when he finally achieved a measure of it, for even he knew that his infamy would never truly rival Potter's fame, he hated it. In a brief lapse of concentration, Draco actually wondered if this was what it felt like to wear Potter's shoes.

Shaking his head, he scoffed at himself. Wear Potter's shoes indeed. Certainly not until Potter discarded those god-awful Muggle things called trainers. No, they would neither don each others shoes for Draco understood that at the end of the day, Saint Potter would emerge triumphant and hailed the conquering hero, while Draco himself would always bear the mantle of a Dark Wizard.

Perhaps he could go find Pansy – after all misery loved company.


	8. Chapter Seven – Christmas at Malfoy Manor

Draco had only truly celebrated one white Christmas. He was six and his parents had been invited to some rich and influential wizard's home in Inverness. He did not even remember the wizard's name, but he did remember the snow sculptures his mother had created to keep him occupied. He particularly remembered a small dragon, roughly the same height as him, which was quite exquisite. 

Apart from then, all his Christmases were spent in Wiltshire and everyone knew it never snowed in the south in December. It was cold, it was windy, it was grey and it was dreary, but it never snowed. In part, Draco wished that he had chosen to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays even if it was just to make some snow sculptures again.

Two weeks ago, Draco had received another letter from his mother, this time arriving at a less conspicuous time, asking if he was going to return for Christmas. Draco had initially found it rather strange for her to be asking that, as he had always gone home during the holidays. Not so much for the turkey dinner, the presents giving and carol singing, heaven forbid the Malfoys indulged in such frivolous traditions, but it was just something that his father had decided Draco did. Occasionally, he was brought along to a dinner party that Lucius had been invited to. When such a party was held in Malfoy Manor, Draco was expected to play host as well. There were also times where his parents would attend more mature parties and would leave him on his own. All in all, it was not really a jolly time for the boy.

With his father's exile, Draco finally realised that he no longer needed to do anything that he had been _told_ to do. Nevertheless, Draco did not believe that he should go on a mindless rebelling spree just because he could now. Some of the things he had learned from Lucius had their own merits and were not merely a whim of the elder Malfoy. Others were worth turning your nose at just for the hell of it.

Despite that hint of rebellion, Draco said he would return home to celebrate Christmas with his mother.

Narcissa had expressed her appreciation, even though she did say it was not necessary. She had been busy going on some clandestine mission of her own to consolidate her position in the wizarding aristocracy. Rumour had it, she was even trying to make a claim on the Black fortune, seeing that she was the last Black that was not wanted by the law or disinherited.

Thus, he saw very little of her in the first week of returning home. Draco didn't mind that much; he had not spent much of his time with her since he had begun at Hogwarts. Instead, he used the time to do his homework and practice his martial skills. 

One bleak evening as he was completing the last of his assignments, a sharp tap on his window distracted him. He opened it and an owl hopped in and settled on his desk.

Draco eyed the envelope and the owl curiously. They both bore the insignia of the Ministry, and he could not imagine why they would be writing to him. Once he had taken the letter, the owl took flight.

Ripping the envelope, Draco pulled the letter out and was rather surprised to see a familiar script – his father's. 

_Draco,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I am saddened that I have not been granted the opportunity to speak with you in person before I left the country. Alas, while the Ministry has been lenient with my sentencing, there are laws that must be adhered to, as unjust as it may seem._

He continued reading the letter, which, to most, was filled with mindless pleasantries and contrived fatherly advice, but Draco was no fool. He fully understood what the letter implied. He knew how to read between the lines of those seemingly innocent words.

_... I trust that you will preserve the good reputation of the Malfoy family in my absence..._

_... Know that, though I am no longer able to be there for you in person, you will always be watched over by others who care for your well being..._

_... Rest assured that you will come into your rightful inheritance when you are of age..._

In short, Draco was to keep doing what he had been doing for the last sixteen years, be a good filial son worthy of the Malfoy name. There were Death Eaters watching his every move to make sure he did not set a toe out of line, and after his next birthday he would be initiated into Voldemort's inner circle.

The parchment wrinkled in Draco's white-knuckled fist. A mix of emotions churned in his belly. Draco was both disappointed and outraged that Lucius would still try to shape his destiny even after failing to be a master of his, Lucius', own. Notwithstanding, the boy still felt a sense of loyalty to his father and family.

Lucius' allegiance to the Dark Lord was something Draco had never questioned. While most of Voldemort's supporters followed him out of fear and blinded hero-worship, Lucius was far too intelligent and ambitious to jump on the bandwagon without good cause. Draco believed that Lucius' obedience was born out of his own raison d'être.

The boy needed to understand his father's motives before he would decide to defy or support Lucius.

That in itself posed a conundrum. Draco doubted that he could write, _"Dear Father, please explain in its entirety why you are supporting someone considered to be a homicidal maniac by the majority before I choose to renounce or accept you."_

First of all, Draco had no return address for Lucius. Secondly, even if the owl did find him, Draco was certain his jailor would screen all communication. And finally, that line of questioning would probably send Lucius flying back to England to throttle Draco to death, exiled or not.

Thus, the next available course of action would be for him to either deduce from his own knowledge and experience of his father's activities, which would be nothing more than supposition, or he could ask his mother.

Yes, talk to his mother – it was a novel concept, especially so when considering the topic of conversation. His mother had previously been nothing more than a source of comfort for his childhood fears and reservations. Once he had begun to mature, she retained her status as an avatar of solace but certainly did not become one of inspiration and guidance. His father fulfilled that role and guarded it jealously. Whoever he was today was a result of Lucius' conditioning.

Perhaps, it was time for him to get reacquainted with his mother.

Narcissa's study was contemporary by comparison. While the rest of the Manor had items that dated back to the seventeenth century, she seemed to favour a look that was more up to date. There were neither ancient tapestries that spoke of legends nor any ornate carvings that marked historical milestones. The walls of her study were adorned by paintings of famous twentieth century surrealist and Dada artists and the furniture was austere.

Before Draco seated himself, he handed his father's letter over to Narcissa. As he waited patiently for her to finish reading the letter, he tried not to fidget. 

"That's very thoughtful of him," Narcissa said diplomatically, sliding the letter back across the table to Draco.

Draco stared at her; was that all she had to say? Surely she could discern the implication behind those seemingly innocent words.

"Is there something else you need?" she asked when Draco did neither respond nor exit the room.

"Actually, yes." Draco was not raised to play coy. "I want to know what you thought about it."

"What is there to think about?"

"Are you going to pick up where Father left off and pave my way into the inner circle?" he asked without deliberating.

A small, somewhat amused, smile curled Narcissa's lips. "If that is what you had hoped for, I'm afraid I do not have that kind of sway on the inner circle. I may be wife and sister to two of their most prominent members, but I assure you I have no immediate involvement in their ... pursuits."

"You're sitting on the fence, Mother? Isn't that a little dangerous, given that the fence is all but a myth?"

She laughed. "If there isn't a fence, then build one."

"I don't understand. I thought you supported the Dark Lord's ideals of a pureblood society."

"I support the ideals of a pureblood society, Draco. Such ideals are not the Dark Lord's own. He is merely the latest reformation leader in a long line of leaders that have graced our history. He stands out among the others, because he is great in power and radical in his methods, but mostly because he is here among us now."

Narcissa paused for a moment. "The Dark Lord has been the foremost leader of our society in bringing about the purity that we wish to restore, that is why he had my support. Formidable as he is, ultimately my dedication is to the ideal."

"Had?" Draco suddenly said.

She looked at him sombrely then said, "It is my belief that the Dark Lord has strayed from his original vision. The purity of our people is now only secondary; he has been consumed by his lust for vengeance against Harry Potter." She studied Draco closely then smiled wryly. "I'm sure I don't need to elaborate on how powerful that emotion can be."

"Isn't it risky to be opposing him, Mother?"

"I am not opposing him. Like you, I have no love for Harry Potter." Narcissa laughed. "The Dark Lord is welcome to kill him for all I care. I am merely not willing to sacrifice everything that we have worked for in the attempt to destroy a child. Your father was, now look where he has ended up. Once the Dark Lord is ready to resume the reformation of our society, he will find me waiting. If he will not, then I shall only have to wait for the rise of our next leader. You will find that I am not alone in this sentiment."

Draco was surprised. The impact of his mother's words was staggering. He had always thought his parents' allegiance was firmly to the Dark Lord himself. He might have expected his father to have his own agenda, but he would not have thought that his mother's loyalty to the Dark Lord was merely one of convenience – because it was beneficial to her own beliefs, because she was neither mindlessly obedient nor hopelessly fearful of the Dark Lord.

Slumping into his chair, Draco exhaled, feeling rather stunned by the revelation of his mother's position in this conflict and quite impressed by the conviction to her beliefs.

"Don't slouch, Draco," she said absentmindedly.

Immediately, Draco sat up. "Father spoke of a war. Are you going to fight with or against him?"

"I choose not to fight at all. War is for soldiers, and the soldiers among us are the Death Eaters and Dumbledore's people."

"And what of me?" he finally asked, "Am I to join the Death Eaters as Father wanted me to or sit on the fence with you?"

"Draco, you are no longer a child," Narcissa said firmly, "Make your own choices depending on your beliefs, your own ambitions and your own experiences. But whichever you choose, you must stick by them, and you must accept the consequences of your choices. That is what separates the cowardly from the worthy – ownership of responsibility."

A new depth of respect for his mother bloomed in Draco's heart. In all honesty, he had never equated her to words like insightful and shrewd. He had always thought that those were traits that his father bore, but now he wasn't so sure anymore. Indeed, Lucius was powerful and respected in many circles, but was it because of his own merits, because he had gained the confidence of an even more powerful wizard, or because he was merely a Malfoy?

Narcissa, on the other hand, had been regarded as wife to Lucius Malfoy, always standing in her husband's shadow. She played no vital role where the Death Eater was concerned. The rest of the Malfoy family saw her as the mother of the heir of the Malfoy fortune. Yet behind these supercilious statuses, Draco could now see an impressive woman of great resolve and cunning.

When Lucius was incarcerated, Draco was certain it would be the end of the Malfoy family. Despite the slanderous media, the ostracism from certain circles of Magical society and the embarrassment of Lucius being caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, Narcissa had managed to keep the dignity of the family. Draco did not know how, but he concluded that his mother was far more influential than he had given her credit for.

"I have an appointment I must keep," Narcissa said, drawing Draco away from his thoughts. She rose from her seat and approached Draco. She placed a quick peck on his forehead. "I'll see you later. Be sure to have some dinner. You're all skin and bones."

"Yes, Mother," he replied automatically, watching her glide out of her study. 

Draco remained seated for a few more moments looking ponderously at the letter from his father. Picking the parchment, Draco crushed it in his hand then tossed it negligently into the crackling fire. Without looking back, he exited the study.

~*~

From the highest balcony of the Manor, Draco had clear view to Durrington. The village was brightly lit, in particular the old abbey. It was Christmas Eve, and the villagers, both Muggle and Magic folk, were either celebrating at home or rejoicing the birth of their saviour in church.

Draco wished that he could've been as enthusiastic as they were about the saviour of the Magical world. He wasn't even sure whom he considered to be said saviour – the bigoted Half-blood who would cleanse their race, or the naïve Half-blood who would fight to preserve all things magical? After his conversation with his mother, Draco found that he was more confused than he had been before.

Drawing his cashmere cloak closer around him, he continued to stare at Durrington over the darkness of fields and forests that segregated the Manor from the village. He had never concerned himself with the events of the village. It bore no interest to him, and if it did serve a purpose to the Malfoys it was merely one of the many places from where rent was collected. Yet that Christmas Eve he could not help but wonder if there was something of interest for him.

Narcissa had left the Manor a few hours before, briefly citing that she had been invited to the dinner party that the Mayor of Amesbury was hosting. She kissed Draco goodbye, told him to have dinner and that she would endeavour to be home by midnight to usher in Christmas with him.

While Draco appreciated her promise, he doubted that she would make it back. Not that he minded. He understood what she was doing, she was doing it to maintain her status quo and secure her future, and Draco's, in the Magical community.

In fact, Draco was quite enjoying the solitude. It was a new thing, perhaps even a novelty. For as long as he could remember, he had been surrounded by servants, elves or lackeys, all of them falling over each other either trying to please him or gain his favour by licking his boots.

The absence of voices spouting platitudes and tripe gave him the opportunity to think. To think about what had transpired since last summer. To think about what his father had written to him and what his mother had said.

His seventeenth birthday was just over half a year away; once he had reached that milestone he knew that there were things that he would have to claim responsibility for. It was a daunting prospect; where in the past he would've relied heavily upon his father's guidance, Draco's confidence in Lucius had been rather shaken.

The emptiness of the Manor suddenly made its presence felt, and, on an impulse, Draco retrieved his broom then flew south out of the Manor into the heart of Durrington, landing in a dark cul de sac. He hid his broom, confident that the security charms would prevent it from being stolen, before heading onto the high street.

Despite living in the area all his life, Draco had never been to Durrington. It was predominantly Muggle, thus he'd never seen the appeal to mingle with those he considered inferior to him.

The street was gaily lit, and the majority of the shops he passed were gaudily dressed, with garish hues of green and red, flashing lights and moving idols of angels, stunted Muggles in green pointy hats, and, of course, the rotund Santa Claus. Surprisingly, the pubs and restaurants were filled too. It would seem that Draco wasn't the only one who didn't have some grandiose family dinner to celebrate the festivities, not that he traditionally did much celebrating this time of year.

Draco didn't know whether to pity or envy them. Pity because they made themselves such easy targets. It would be so simple for a group of Death Eaters to Apparate into their midst and just kill them all. Envy because they lived their lives without having to look over their shoulders every two seconds, wondering if there were malicious wands pointed at their backs.

There was no fear in them. Not the kind of fear Lucius had spoken of when the Dark Lord was last in power. Did they simply not know that the Dark Lord had returned? Could it be that they weren't afraid of him anymore? The Dark Lord had risen for some eighteen months, and he had yet to make any of his signature moves – horrific Muggle torturing and murders or mass unexplained disappearances. 

At that point, Draco could not help but agree with his mother – the Dark Lord's focus had shifted to that of Harry Potter. The Dark Lord was consumed by defeating the boy, perhaps as much as Draco was obsessed with besting him. Potter would always be a thorn in the Dark Lord's side until death claimed either one. 

Draco snorted at the sheer absurdity of that idea – Potter was actually keeping the streets safe just by breathing. _Bloody Saint Potter, saviour of Mudbloods and Muggles._

As he passed a particularly packed restaurant, Draco was suddenly overrun by a large crowd. Several of them bumped into him and one of them even trod on his toes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," the offender said. He was young, perhaps a few years younger than Draco. He had short dark hair and was simply dressed in a jumper and jeans. A pair of black-rimmed glasses sat perched on his nose. Draco half expected to see the accursed lightning shaped scar on the boy's forehead.

Draco resisted the urge to hex the Muggle. After all, he was forbidden to use magic out of school, and he was standing in a crowd of Muggles. Draco scowled at the boy instead. He was not so much annoyed by being trod on than he was being faced with someone who reminded him of his archrival.

He glowered, then without a word spun around and headed back to where he had hidden his broom. What was he thinking? Did he actually believe that being in a Muggle village was going to make him feel better? What a laugh.

"Merry Christmas!" the boy called even though Draco had been rude to him.

More than ever, Draco felt like throttling the boy. Not only did his physical attributes remind Draco of Harry sodding Potter, his perky demeanour also did. Potter was always seen as the sunshine to any dreary day. It was annoying, and from god-knows-where, Potter had sent a doppelganger to haunt Draco.

Draco wondered what Potter was doing at that moment. Given that Potter had in the past always stayed in Hogwarts over the holidays, Draco assumed that he had joined his surrogate family, the Weasleys, that Christmas. Draco could see it in his mind's eye – a single raven-haired youth sitting in a sea of red, sticking out like a sore thumb. Or perhaps he would dominate centre stage because of his diversity. 

Harry Potter had been nothing if not different. He was special; he was always worthy of attention. He always knew how to win people over to his cause through his boundless alacrity and altruistic deeds. 

Notwithstanding, Draco had seen the darkness that lurked within that pristine soul. Like Draco's, Potter's life was filled will shadows, but unlike Draco, Potter had been offered illumination. That light came in the form of trusted friends and faithful confidants. Even as he loathed admitting it, Draco knew that the Weasel and the Mudblood had actually been good for something – keeping Potter on the brighter path.

These days, Draco wasn't so sure anymore. Potter's recent affinity to physical violence could indicate that he really wasn't coping all that well. Often, Draco would witness Potter shuffling several steps behind his other friends, clearly segregating himself from them. He would arrive alone to meal times or spend late nights in the library on his own. Whatever respite or solace Potter needed, he didn't seem to get it from his friends anymore.

Perhaps Potter thought they wouldn't understand the darkness that lurked around the corner of every path he took, a darkness that threatened to consume him if he made but one foolish choice. If that was what Potter feared, then Draco suspected Potter would not be wrong. Those who had grown up in caring, loving and save environments would not see the scars that isolation and negligence could leave upon a soul.

When Draco arrived home, he was glad to find that the elves had kept the fire going in the family room. Curling up in a chair nearest the fireplace, Draco sipped on the hot chocolate an elf had brought him, as he watched the gentle twinkling of starlight in the Christmas tree at the other end of the room. 

Narcissa had ordered for a tree to be dressed. It was something that she did every year. Most of the time, the tree had been placed in the ballroom or the dinning room where guests could admire its grandeur. This year, it was set in the family room just for Draco and Narcissa to enjoy. It was a pretty tree, but Draco honestly didn't see the point.

Narcissa spent most of her time in her study while Draco preferred the haven of his own chambers as well. It was perhaps the first time that he had actually taken the time to sit in the family room, sipping hot chocolate.

The clock struck twelve. Draco listened to each chime of the grandfather clock echo slightly in the room. When the echoes died, he smiled to himself wistfully and said, "Merry Christmas, Draco."


	9. Chapter Eight – Swords and Sorcery

It was New Year's Eve and despite telling himself firmly not to mope, Draco's treacherous heart was beginning to entertain that feeling as the day drew on. 

Hogwarts was mostly abandoned, everyone had homes to go to enjoy this so called festive season with family. Even Potter had buggered off, no doubt enjoying a hearty home cooked meal with the redheaded philistines. Whoop-dee-doo for him.

 _This is karmic return,_ Draco thought. Every year Draco would laugh and sneer childishly that no one wanted Potter around for the holidays, and now that Draco himself had returned to Hogwarts early, Potter had left leaving no one worthy for the Slytherin to tease.

 _Bloody karma,_ Draco groused.

While he did not relish the idea of staying by his lonesome in the Manor over New Year's, with almost everyone gone from Hogwarts, he was feeling a little lonely. None in his year had stayed; although the only person he would've wanted company from was Blaise. A number of lower years Slytherins had remained, but they were far too timid to prove any sense of entertainment for Draco. There wasn't even Potter to torment. At that moment he'd even take a Longbottom to wind up.

Bored out if his mind and with his perfidious heart threatening to brood him to death, Draco had fled the dreary dungeons. A little fresh air might clear his mind, and he had always enjoyed watching the snowfall.

Draco wandered through the courtyards, taking childish pleasures in making the first footprints in the untouched snow. As he stood in the largest central courtyard in the Castle, he smiled broadly to himself. Almost a foot of snow had settled in there. Thus, with an elegant twirling of his wand, he began to sculpt the snow into a familiar visage of his namesake. 

As he made the finishing touches to his little dragon, a voice startled him.

"Cute, but they can be vicious things," Taira said.

"Professor, I didn't hear you come." Draco blushed slightly at being caught making snow sculptures. It was childish and very un-Slytherin like.

"I know." She smirked as she took one last long drag from her cigarette before vanishing it. "I wouldn't turn my back on that thing if I were you."

"What?" Draco managed to say before he felt the impact of something wet and cold on the back of his head. He spun around to face his attacker only to find his little dragon was belching snowballs at him. Draco ducked another volley. "How?" he spluttered somewhat foolishly.

Taira said, "Magic, of course."

The dragon belched another barrage of snowballs at Draco.

"Professor!" the boy protested; he could hardly believe his own ears when he heard himself wheedling to Taira.

"Well, fight back, Mister Malfoy. Did I spend the last few months teaching you nothing?"

Draco narrowed his eyes in a calculative manner then twirled his wand to create another sculpture – this time a burly knight with a large shield and long sword. The knight lifted his shield and valiantly blocked the next attack before stomping towards the dragon. The dragon skittered back and then tried to swipe the knight with its snowy paw.

And so the epic battle of the snow creatures between teacher and student began. Before long the dragon and the knight were joined by newly sculpted cohorts. Taira moulded more fantastical beasts – leviathans, gryphons, wyverns and hippogriffs, while Draco made a host of knights, paladins and archers. 

Snow went flying everywhere as the icy marionettes were pitted against each other. It was inevitable that they had begun to draw a crowd. Other students, teachers and ghosts alike gathered around the courtyard to watch them with amusement. 

Draco had to admit that he found it rather strange to be fighting with the avatars that were usually associated with the forces of good.

Eventually, the young Slytherin's forces were overwhelmed, mainly due to the fact that the original dragon had managed to land another snowball right between Draco's eyes. Snorting and choking on snow, he lost control of some of his warriors and summarily got trounced by the bestial horde.

Their audience erupted in applause and cheers. Draco wondered if they were cheering because of the entertaining performance he and Taira had put on, or if they were cheering because Taira had defeated him.

Taira dismissed her horde then inclined her head at the crowd regally. Draco was delighted to see that she had not come out of the battle unscathed – her cloak was dusted with snow and her hair looked a little damp. 

"Take a bow, Mister Malfoy," she said quietly, "Mustn't disappoint your fans."

Draco laughed and bowed floridly. With that the two of them headed back into the Castle.

"I did not imagine you to be such an artist," she said. "Your sculptures were quite beautiful. Shame I had to annihilate them."

Draco chuckled. "Thank you, Professor." He then smiled, thinking of the time when he was a child and his mother made him his first snow sculpture. She was the artist in the family, even if she was neither encouraged nor seemed interested in pursuing such frivolous talents. Draco was glad to have shared a measure of that gift, notwithstanding.

"You'd better go get into something dry, Mister Malfoy. I don't need you catching your death. Severus will have my head."

"Yes, Professor."

Taira bade him goodbye. Draco returned to his dormitory, deciding that he would shower before dinner. He had heard that given the low number of residents over the holidays in the castle, students would not be expected to sit at their individual house tables. Instead, they would be dining alongside whatever teachers that had remained. He didn't fancy turning up to dinner looking scruffy. Even if Draco did not have a reputation to protect, his vanity certainly would not allow him to do so.

In a whimsical mood, he had decided to detract from his usual gothic attire or the traditional, formal robes. Filing through his wardrobe, Draco pulled out a silken damask tunic, ivory in hue, with a lace-up front and a pair of tan suede trousers. A rich mahogany cloak, woven out of the finest cashmere, held in place by an ornate silver pin, completed his outfit for the night.

Draco scrutinised his image in the mirror, deciding what he should do with his hair. He reached up to run his fingers through the fine silky locks, watching them tumble over his eyes. He wasn't used to wearing his hair down, as it were, but it did make him look less conceited. Satisfied that he looked good enough for the occasion, Draco headed down to the Great Hall.

As expected, the Hall was cleared of the usual four house tables. In their places were two tables, half the size of the house tables, set alongside each other. The teachers were mingling around one, each holding a goblet that was smoking mildly, while students were clustered awkwardly around the other, most of them seemingly ignorant about cross-house and cross-year interaction.

As he approached, the teachers moved to take places around both tables. Draco was inadvertently manoeuvred into a seat between an edgy looking first year Hufflepuff and an aloof looking seventh year Ravenclaw. He didn't feel like there would be any interesting conversations for him that night. He had begun to despair at the injustice of the seating plan until Snape and Taira sidled into the seats opposite him. 

There was still hope for the night to not be mind numbing.

The young Slytherin watched them surreptitiously. They were talking rather civilly; certainly this was the first time Draco witnessed Snape being this friendly to a colleague. She, on the other hand, was totally unperturbed by his haughty demeanour, obviously taking it in her stride.

Both Snape and Taira acknowledged Draco's presence opposite the table, and the boy could not help but feel a little smug about it. 

"You are mistaken, Rei," Snape continued. "There is no replacement for shadowkelp essence in the potion."

"And as usual you're not thinking out of the box," Taira retorted. "There are several substitutes that could prove just as effective."

"Replace one with many." A dark eyebrow rose in disdain. "That is efficient."

"How would you know, when you don't even know what those substitutes are?"

"Fine," Snape conceded grumpily. "Present your case." 

Draco watched and listened with intrigue; he was fascinated by the topic of their discussion as well as how they were interacting with each other. He had hardly noticed that food had appeared before him until someone timidly asked him to pass the potatoes.

"First of all, shadowkelp is so rare that it might as well be listed as endangered. Secondly, it takes forty-three days to prepare the leaves before its essence can be distilled. And finally, it takes vast amount of the essence to make a decent vial of potion."

"Yes, and that is why the potion is valuable."

"Potions aren't supposed to be valued by their weight in gold. What use is the formula if you can't make it in a hurry? The affliction it cures is not long termed, and the potion doesn't keep. By the time the shadowkelp is ready, it's more often than not too late for the would-be imbiber."

"What miracle herb do you recommend then?" Snape asked somewhat irritably as he took a sip from his goblet.

"Not just an herb, three other reagents; far easier to obtain and prepare – black lotus, Himalayan bloodroot and silverfin oil. All of which can be prepared in a quarter of the time it takes to do the shadowkelp," Taira replied.

The potions master pinned her with a sceptical look. "All of which are not native to the British Isle."

"But in abundance in the Asian continent. It won't kill you to import ingredients from another country. Why are so damned xenophobic, Severus?"

Snape choked on his brussles sprout and glared at her in indignation.

Draco ducked his head to stifle a chuckle, hoping that his professors had not caught him eavesdropping on their conversation.

"What do you think, Mister Malfoy?" Taira asked, this time making Draco choke on his brussles sprout.

The boy briefly wondered if she was referring to Snape's xenophobia or their discussion on reagents that he had never even heard of. He decided to assume that she was talking about the latter. It was far safer that way. "I must admit that I am not familiar with the topic of discussion, Professor. I have come across the herb shadowkelp occasionally but only in rare and obscure formulae."

"Honestly, Severus, you keep the potions knowledge so close to your chest as if you fear that your students are going poison your tea one fine morning."

"I keep them to myself because I do not believe they are learned enough to be trifling with such potent reagents," Snape replied in a severe whisper.

"And that is another reason why the alternatives would prove better. On their own in their natural form, they pose no harm, unlike shadowkelp. Only when you combine them in the right proportions and conditions will they become potent."

"You would presume to be the authority in potion reagents?"

"Yes, actually," Taira replied smugly, "You know I am. You might make a better brew, but your knowledge of global reagents is shockingly blinkered."

"My preference in using native reagents does not indicate my lack of knowledge in its global cousins. You may not have noticed, but some of us do not have the privilege to gallivant around the world to pick herbs."

Draco was quite surprised to find that Taira took absolute no notice of the malice that Snape was seemingly directing at her. She spoke to him in the same cool, calculated manner she spoke to everyone else. Draco was inclined to draw the conclusion that they had known each other before Taira took a post within the Hogwarts faculty.

They continued bickering about potions, moving on to other even more obscure reagents, as Draco continued to listen. Occasionally, one of them would pause and elaborate on a property of a certain leaf or the dangers of contact with a root for Draco's benefit. He picked up more interesting facts about potion making in the few hours at dinner than he had in his years at Hogwarts.

Dinner was certainly far from mind numbing. 

Once the dessert plates had been cleared, the teachers bade goodnight to the students and filed off to the teacher's lounge. The rest of the students left the hall as well. Draco turned to follow suit when he realised that Snape and Taira were still seated.

When Taira looked up, she caught Draco staring. Instead of ignoring him, she gestured for him to approach. Draco obliged.

"It's a few hours to midnight, let's do something to usher in the New Year," Taira said.

"Traditionally, that is what the feast is for," Snape replied wryly.

Taira ignored him and rose from her chair. "Let's go to Hogsmeade. I haven't been there since the term started. I'm sure it will be more happening there than here. I see no point in sitting around in a cold castle when you could be carousing in a fire-warmed pub."

Without waiting for an answer, Taira strode out of the Great Hall and exited the Castle. Draco followed without question, intrigued by where this was all leading to.

"It's a long walk to Hogsmeade," Snape commented as he glided after her.

"So we skate!" she said simply heading towards the underground harbour.

"Skate?"

"Yes, it's the activity where you don blades upon your shoes to enable you to glide over a frozen lake." 

"I know what skating is, Rei. Do you think this is wise?" Snape asked.

"Wise? Who knows?" Taira shrugged, swishing her wand so that her boots began sprouting thin silver blades. "I don't think I've ever been accused of being wise."

"That, I can believe."

"Wouldn't it be safer to fly?" Draco asked, and then watched with curiosity as Taira and Snape traded expressions.

With a mocking smirk, Snape agreed, "Yes, it would, wouldn't it?"

Taira glowered at him. 

Draco wondered if it was prudent to ask why Taira was so annoyed at the suggestion when Snape turned to look at Draco to explain.

"Rei won't willingly mount a broom unless her life depended on it," Snape said with glee. "And even then she'll have to be drugged."

"You're afraid to fly?" Draco asked before he could stop himself.

"Indeed, she is. Why is that again?" Snape smirked.

Taira's scowl deepened. "Shut it, Severus; unless you want me hanging your dirty laundry out as well."

Snape's smirk faded at Taira's threat, but he wasn't out of arguments yet, "Draco, however, does have a point. The ice will break under our weight."

Taira scoffed. "Just cast an unbreakable charm on it. Now, are you coming with or are you going to stand there and criticise?"

The potions master cast Taira an enquiring look then turned to look at Draco, who was failing to conceal the sheer amusement in his expression. Eventually, Snape said, "It will take a lot of magic to cast the Unbreakable Charm on the lake."

"You don't have to do the whole damned thing. We'll just charm a pathway there – is four feet wide enough for you? I'll even put shiny blinky lights on the edge of the path so you won't wander off it and fall through the ice to your untimely death," she retorted sarcastically.

Snape stood unmoving and glared at her.

"Fine, don't come." Taira shrugged indifferently. "If you are going to be argumentative all night then I'd rather you didn't. Mister Malfoy, shall we?"

"You can't take him with you!" Snape snapped.

"Why not?"

"Students are not allowed off the castle estate without permission."

"Oh, lighten up, Severus. I'm giving him permission now. Mister Malfoy, how would you like to earn some extra credits for your Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson?" She smirked shrewdly at Draco.

"Rei, that is unethical," Snape said warningly. "I am the Head of his house and am responsible for him."

Exhaling impatiently, Taira said, "I'm not going to stand here and argue with you about it, Severus. Mister Malfoy is old enough to make decisions on his own. You are not going to stop him on some stupid technicality and red tape. What do you say, Mister Malfoy, are you coming or staying?"

Draco felt a little panicked being asked to effectively choose between Snape and Taira. Snape, he knew, could be vindictive and mean. After five years witnessing the kind of attention the potions master lavished on Potter, Draco wasn't sure if he wouldn't be on the receiving end of that treatment if he went with Taira. On the other hand, he did not want to offend Taira for refusing her generous offer.

"Fine," Snape finally said then spun around and began his way back to the Castle. "Don't get too drunk and keep an eye out for the boy. He's an asset to Slytherin, and I would loath to lose him in some ridiculous drunken brawl."

Draco let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, relieved that the decision was made for him.

"Have I ever let you down, Professor?" Taira called out before turning to Draco. "Come, Mister Malfoy, let me take care of your boots and we can go. Time is wasting."

Draco obediently walked to the lake's edge, briefly wondering if someone had spiked Taira's eggnog with something more potent than alcohol. She was almost aggressive and rather impulsive in wanting to do things. What surprised Draco the most was how she was ordering Snape around with success.

Taira then said with a wicked glint, "I trust you recognise that this is indeed a rare privilege that is being extended to you. You are a responsible, mature young man, and I have faith that whatever may transpire tonight will remain between us?"

"Of course, Professor," Draco replied.

"We have an understanding, then," she said then pointed her wand at the ice.

He watched with admiration as a four-foot wide path was marked out with the shiny blinky lights as promised. 

She kicked off and slid across the ice gracefully. The young Slytherin followed suit. He had not skated in years and was a little unsure about it. Still, he would not show it. When Draco could not keep up with her pace, Taira skidded to a halt then made her way back towards Draco.

"You look nervous and cold," she said.

"I am not quite dressed for skating on a frozen lake, Professor," Draco confessed but refused to admit he was feeling nervous.

"Right, stop." Draco did as he was told. Taira skirted closer to him then continued. "Close your eyes and think of something that makes you warm. Remember what I said about personal magical fields?" 

The boy nodded remembering the last lesson before the Christmas break.

"Good. You have control of that; it is yours and no one else's. Focus that power inwards and the incantation is _'hounetsu youni'_."

As soon as he had repeated the spell, Draco felt the warmth immediately. It didn't spread like a hot drink he had just consumed; the cold simply vanished. The best way Draco could describe it was that it felt like a shield had just been erected around him cutting off the cold from his skin.

Draco exhaled in mild surprise; his breath still misted in the cold December air, but as far as his body was concerned he might as well be standing by a roaring fire. "Why didn't they teach us this spell in our first year?"

"Because it's an Taira Rei special," she replied then carried on skating. Draco followed suit as she continued, "Moreover, schools usually don't encourage students that young to perform spells on themselves. If you practice enough, you can install a thermostat on that thing."

"I can what a what on which?"

Taira chuckled; it was a rare occurrence. She cast him a sidelong glance. "Mister Malfoy, if you want to get far in this world, you must know those that share your world; even if you don't hold them in very high regard."

"You mean Muggles? Why? They're not very much use to us, are they? And they have thinned the blood of so many once powerful magical families, it's disgraceful."

"Yet there are those who have given us exceptionally magical people like Hermione Granger and Lily Evans."

"Who's Lily Evans?" Draco asked despite himself.

"Mister Potter's mother. She was extraordinary, and there was no doubt about her talents and her prowess as a witch."

"You knew her?"

"Yes, I knew her." Taira answered rather evasively. "Tell me, Mister Malfoy, is that the fundamental basis to your grudge against those of Muggle descent? That you feel they have tainted the magical pedigree?"

Blond eyebrows furrowed, but Draco did not answer, and Taira gave him the time to mull over it. They skated in silence for a moment and before long, they were at the Hogsmeade side of the lake. Taira dispelled the Unbreakable Charm and transfigured their skates back to boots then led the way into the village towards the Three Broomsticks. 

"How many true Purebloods do you think make up the magical society?" she asked sitting down at a booth by the fireplace.

Sliding into the seat opposite her, Draco replied, "Not many."

"You're not wrong. Despite what most people assume, Purebloods do not make up one quarter of the magical population. They often believe that everyone in Slytherin is a Pureblood. Even the most prominent Slytherin of our times isn't a Pureblood."

Taira ordered a bottle of mercurio tequila and two glasses when Madam Rosmerta came to take their order. Draco was surprised that, one, his professor was letting him drink under aged, and two, that Madam Rosmerta was allowing her to do it.

"The thinning of magical blood, as you put it, has been happening for hundreds of years, perhaps even in the last one thousand years. If we were to only join Pureblood houses with akin, then we'd run a very high risk of inbreeding. Not that it hasn't already encroached on some families."

"Most people in Slytherin have always maintained they were Pureblood," Draco protested.

"Most people in Slytherin probably don't realise that their great-great-great grandfather was half blood. Even said great-great-great grandfather might not have known he was half blood."

"How is that?"

"For one, promiscuity among the rich and powerful is a common thing, and the absence of modern day genetics makes it difficult to test the paternity of any child. Additionally, when the blue-blooded Queen fails to provide a suitable heir, a prince sired upon a common chambermaid can sometimes serve as well. The chambermaid would've been silenced, the Queen would have adopted the boy as her own and no one else would've been any the wiser."

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. "That is not a pleasant concept."

Grinning, Taira poured out a shot of tequila for each of them. "Afraid that you might actually have mud blood in your veins?"

"Am I that transparent?" Draco accepted the glass then downed it as Taira did. The liquid burned all the way down his throat and hit his stomach like a dropped anvil, but the enhanced euphoric sensation of magical alcohol hit him almost instantly.

"Yes," she replied, grimaced, and then lit a cigarette. "Slytherins are incredibly paranoid about the purity of their blood, which is what I find so utterly amusing about Voldemort's little fan club. They scream and shout about the indignity of non-Purebloods, yet they flock and swoon and fawn over a Half-blood wizard. Heir of Slytherin or not, his blood was never pure. If you look in the dictionary under 'hypocrite' you'll probably see a group photo of them."

Taira downed her shot as Draco took his drink at a slower pace. He wondered if Taira realised that she was also insulting his father, or if, perhaps, she did but didn't care.

"What is your view on this, young Mister Malfoy?" She looked steadily in his eyes and Draco held her gaze contemplatively.

He had never been asked what he thought about what the Dark Lord and his followers stood for. His father had always assumed and expected that he would be a filial son and would follow obediently while his mother had never conveyed her expectations of him. Additionally, everyone else had always assumed and expected he would be a filial son and would follow obediently. Draco didn't think he had thought any differently until some six months ago, and since his enlightening conversation with his mother he knew that it was time to re-evaluate his own views.

"I honestly don't know," he admitted. Admitting he didn't know something was not a habit for Draco. In fact, he tended to avoid it like the plague. "I don't think I was given any reason to think about it. Independent thinking is not fashionable in the Death Eater's social circle. You merely do what you are told to do."

"Do you feel you have reason to think about it now?"

"Yes, I do, and there is a lot to think about." Draco tipped the rest of the drink into the back of his throat. As soon as he laid his glass down, Taira filled it again. Draco continued, "Am I right in assuming that you would fight on Potter's side in the war?"

"I will do what is necessary to safeguard my interests. If that means I have to fight alongside Mister Potter to do so, then so be it," Taira answered evasively, yet again. "What of you, Mister Malfoy? I sense that you do not unconditionally believe in the cause of the Dark Lord any longer. Thus, will you stand by the so-called forces of light?"

"Even if I did not believe in the Dark Lord's personal cause, I doubt that I would be capable of marching under Potter's banner. Besides, if I did, I would be the only snake within a pride of lions. I do not relish that idea." Draco snorted. 

"If that is what you choose, rest assured you would not be the only serpent there," Taira said.

"Oh? Name any others." Draco lifted his glass to his lips.

"For a start, Severus has long pledged his allegiance to Professor Dumbledore, and we know that the Headmaster is fighting alongside Mister Potter. And there's me," she replied.

Draco froze, his glass poised upon his lips, his eyes as wide as a house-elf's. He spluttered, "You ... _you_ are Slytherin?"

"You look positively scandalised by the notion that I was once sorted into Slytherin." Taira smirked. "Have I not lived up to the house's reputation and values?"

"No! I mean yes!" Draco replied immediately then cursed his ineloquence. "Well, you just don't seem very Slytherin-like that's all. If I may say so, Professor, you do display more Gryffindor traits."

"Tell me, Mister Malfoy, who is the more adept at subterfuge? The cunning man who makes his cunning known or the one that hides it behind a façade?"

Laughing, Draco then gulped his drink and said, "Oh, very Slytherin indeed. I should've seen it."

"If you had seen it then I would have failed."

"Why the secrecy?"

"I do enjoy a certain amount of enigma. If nothing else, the utter look of disbelief is priceless when I confess my house allegiance."

"Your secret is safe with me, Professor. I wouldn't betray a fellow Slytherin."

"At least not until you have something to gain from it, right?" 

"Is that what you think of me?"

She shook her head. "That is what I think of all of us. Don't take it personally, Mister Malfoy. The Sorting Hat is not far wrong in putting us where are. We are heartless, self-serving bastards at the end of the day. We only show that differently and in many varying levels of subtlety."

"That's strange coming from someone who said she wouldn't judge people by their houses."

"It is because of that I don't judge people by their houses. Notwithstanding, I have seen common traits appear over and over again among those within the same houses. I want to break the mould, but I'm afraid I am a little late to fight a tradition that is a thousand years old."

"But you have freed yourself from that stereotype. You do not appear Slytherin and you have chosen to fight against Salazar Slytherin's personal ethos."

"Indeed, I have chosen to do so." Taira smiled enigmatically. "It is a shame that I am not able to choose for my students as well. I can do nothing but guide."

"Guidance is more than enough. What would we learn if we were to let you do everything for us?"

Taira raised her glass and nodded proudly at Draco. "Perhaps, there is hope for you yet." She winked then tipped her glass.

Draco beamed, thrilled to have received a compliment from Taira. The rest of the night was dominated by conversation that was more trivial and light-hearted. They talked into the night and Madam Rosmerta kept the drinks flowing. Even after the patrons of the pub bellowed out several drunken greetings to usher in New Year, Taira and Draco stayed in their booth.

This was indeed one of the more enjoyable New Year celebrations that Draco had in a while, even if he did wake up with the worst hangover imagined.


	10. Interlude One – Death at Azkaban

Even with the dismissal of the Dementors from their Ministry appointed positions, Azkaban could not be accused of being anything but desolate. Meridian Smith wasn't entirely sure if the former wardens of the prisonhad been worse than the current ones – constructed golems. The Dementors' Kiss was a weapon of great fear, but the sheer lack of sentience of the golems was quite frightening as well. How could the Ministry be sure that the magic that kept them animated and obedient wouldn't breakdown, cause havoc and do something stupid like letting the prisoners go? 

That was a good point and one that evidently that the Ministry had thought about. That in turn had led to Meridian Smith's current appointment as one of the few caretakers who were charged with maintaining the damned monstrosities.

It was a thankless job in a god-forsaken island in the middle of nowhere but someone had to do it since the Dementors were not longer available. That someone was Smith. Smith now wished that he had not flaunted his proficiency in enchantments all that much when he was flagging for a promotion. Sure enough he had been awarded the title of Chief of Operations, but considering where his office was he felt more like he had been sentenced along these good for nothing criminals.

The ministry should've hanged them all, he thought.

Once he had finished his cup of tea, Smith picked up his wand and shuffled off to conduct his usual rounds. He was tired and felt a general ache in every bone in his body. There had been a dull throb in his head for the past week or so. The Healers had found nothing wrong with him, thus he dragged himself to work with no legitimate excuse to pull a sickie.

After checking that the golems on patrol had not wrecked the place, he headed to the storage room to perform the maintenance spells on the remaining golems. Constructed to be remarkably, and lamentably, like humans, the golems required rest, though fortunately not sustenance unless you counted magic, lest the breakdown more often than not. While resting, maintenance was done on them, and their allegiance and obedience was reinforced.

Smith muttered to himself, cursing whatever evil twist of fate that had given him this position then lifted his wand and spoke the incantation.

Nothing happened.

The pale yellow shimmering that normally accompanied the maintenance spell did not happen.

Smith tried again, feeling a little more worn out than he should for a simple spell like that. With hindsight, Smith realised that performing magic seemed to be more difficult these past weeks. He had been dismissing it, blaming it on the stress of this farce of a job, even though he had been doing this job for the past five years now.

The wand lifted again and Smith attempted the spell for the third time.

Black spots swam before his eyes, but there was no yellow shimmer. Smith shook his head, trying to clear his vision, confusion and pain clearly etched upon his face. Feeling his legs quail, he stumbled back against the nearest wall and slid down it.

Dedication was likely Smith's most winning quality; he lifted his wand one more time and tried for the last time to cast the spell.

It was two hours later when Smith's fellow caretaker found him sprawled upon the storage room floor, cold and quite dead.


	11. Chapter Nine – Honourable Rivals

Draco stood upon the battlements of the Castle watching the horseless carriages trickle in from Hogsmeade. It was the Sunday before the term began again, and the remaining bulk of the student body was returning. 

The carriages trundled along smoothly and slowed to a halt. Doors swung open, and almost instantly the chattering voices of a hundred teenagers drifted up to assault Draco's ears. In part, Draco was quite pleased with the return of life into the large dreary Castle; having said that, he wasn't entirely sure that these students were the kind of company he was looking for.

Perhaps some of them were worthy, but certainly the world would be a better place without most of them.

Draco scanned the crowd rushing into the Castle foyer, all eager to get out of the cold, and, undoubtedly, to their usual seats in the Great Hall for an eagerly awaited dinner.

 _Gluttons._ He sniffed haughtily.

A lone figure ambled slowly behind the masses. Even in the fading light of dusk, Draco recognised him to be Potter. Potter walked with a sense of assurance; despite of all that Draco had heard happened to him, he had never seemed to falter in his steps, with his shoulders squared, his head lifted high. He no doubt inspired confidence and an unwavering sense on loyalty in others. He would benefit in garnering devoted followers, yet Draco wondered why he had chosen to stand by his lonesome. 

Potter stopped in his steps then looked up directly at Draco.

A sneer tugged at Draco's lips.

They stared, their usual contest of wills commenced, each attempting to bore into his opponent's soul to find any sign of weakness. Even after five years of rivalry, Draco knew that there was always something new to discover about his enemy. Never make assumptions; never take the enemy for granted.

In those clear green eyes, Draco could see the onus of prophecy weighing heavily upon Potter's soul. He could see the wariness that the impending war had ushered in, and the grim determination in doing whatever proved necessary to safeguard the innocents.

Draco could see exactly what made Potter the hero.

As he peered into Potter's soul, Draco wondered what Potter saw in his own. Then to his eternal surprise, the barest of smiles appeared on Potter's lips. It was not one of derision or mockery. It was one of mild amusement touched with a surreal sense of understanding. If Draco had not been paying that much attention to Potter, he doubted he would've even seen it at all.

Potter suddenly looked away and nodded towards the Castle entrance; no doubt one of his self-styled devotees was calling to him. He cast one last look at Draco before continuing his way into the Castle. Draco himself stood rooted to his perch upon the battlements momentarily, contemplating their somewhat strange exchange before heading towards the Great Hall.

The Hall was heaving. There was a general sense of enthusiasm among the students greeting each other, exchanging tales of their Christmas escapades, and lists of their 'wicked' and 'fab' gifts. While Draco fully expected that of the younger students, for they were nothing but childish and sheltered, he was quite scandalised by his so-called peers and elders acting like children too. At least, he noted with pride, the older students on the Slytherin table were conversing with dignity.

"Draco." Pansy smiled at him. "How was your Christmas?"

"Lucrative, as always." Draco shrugged nonchalantly, taking a seat opposite her and next to Blaise. Even if he had felt the inclination to share the revelations of what he had uncovered over the holidays, the Great Hall was not a place to discuss them.

She giggled. "I take it Santa brought you everything you asked for? And here I thought you were one of the naughty boys."

"Oh, have no doubt about that. He didn't bring me anything, I had my elite team of ninja elves infiltrate his organisation to steal everything that my shallow little heart desired."

"Not to mention if Santa had tried to Floo into Malfoy Manor he would undoubtedly have been eviscerated," Blaise added with a grin. "And Draco would certainly rue the day when he deprived the nice children of all their gifts."

"Yes, indeed, how will I ever sleep at night?"

The part friendly, part scathing banter continued among the three of them throughout dinner. It was so easy, so fluid; it was something that Draco hadn't realised that he had indeed missed over the holidays. 

Draco cast his gaze around the Great Hall, picking random groups of fellow students to scrutinise. Most of them bore the same simple expressions of effervescence, some were more elegant in their exuberance of being back at Hogwarts again. As he continued to scan the Hall, a small cluster of students caught his attention. It was unusual for the pompous loudmouth Zacharias Smith to be so subdued. His usual cronies were also equally quiet.

Leaning over to Blaise, Draco nodded towards the Hufflepuff and asked, "What's up with, Smith? He looks like his pet frog has died."

"Do I look like a newsstand to you? Ask Pansy."

Before Draco could even voice his question again, Pansy had shoved a folded edition of the _Daily Prophet_ under his nose. She said, "Close but not quite. His uncle died a few days ago. Article is at the top of page five."

Pansy's news-finding abilities never ceased to amaze Draco. He flipped through the Prophet and began reading, Blaise reading over his shoulder.

_Suspicious Death at Azkaban._

_In the early hours of New Years Day, Senior Azkaban Warden, Meridian Smith, was found dead in the Golem Maintenance Chamber by a colleague. Initial investigation shows no struggle or any visible signs of the cause of death. Notwithstanding, the Unforgivable curses are known not to leave a mark on their victims._

_Further investigations into the death have revealed that Smith had been unwell in the last week leading up to his passing. His colleagues and friends have noted his constant tiredness and his lapse of concentration in spell casting. However, Smith apparently did not feel he was sick enough to seek Healing._

_The results of the autopsy have been kept classified by the Ministry who has made little comment. The Ministry Representative had this much to say, "We have no reason to panic. Meridian Smith was ill. The Ministry urges the public to stay vigilant but to not succumb to the scare-mongering gossips._

_"Mister Smith's death did not bear the hallmarks of a Death Eater attack, nor did it mark an attempt to free the recently convicted Death Eaters. They are still in custody, and no other wardens have been attacked, if indeed this was an attack at all."_

_There is no doubt that the Ministry is doing all it can to avoid a panic, however, the suspicious circumstances around Meridian Smith's death and the Ministry's need to classify the cause are reason for the rest of us to be wary._

_The funeral will be held at Troutbeck, Cumbria as soon as the Ministry releases his body._

Folding the paper neatly, Draco returned it to Pansy.

"Oh, indeed," Draco scoffed. "Blame everything on the Death Eaters and their house elves. The next time the annual winter flu sweeps through Hogwarts they'll be saying that the Death Eaters have cast some horrible debilitating curse on us. A curse so evil that it'll result to the students dribbling snot all over each other and hacking up a lung or two. Oh, yes, that is certainly maleficent."

"Draco, gross!" Pansy wrinkled her nose as Blaise laughed. "We're having dinner here."

~*~

Draco hurried to Taira's office. He had been summoned there for eight, and the incompetent moron of a messenger didn't get it to him till ten minutes to eight. Unfortunately for him, he had to virtually traverse the length of the Castle to get from the Slytherin dungeons to her office.

"It's not like you to be tardy, Mister Malfoy," Taira noted.

"My apologies, Professor."

"No need, I wasn't reprimanding you, merely making an observation." She studied him briefly, no doubt noting his slight breathlessness. "I hope you have nothing planned tonight."

"Not unless you consider homework plans."

"They are not due tomorrow, are they? I have no intentions of interfering with your education."

"No, Professor."

"Excellent." She nodded satisfactorily and stood. "I have organised a duel with a fellow student whose martial skills are the closest to yours. Consider this a test. I want to see how well you fare against a genuine opponent."

Draco nodded, feeling a slight pang of nervousness mixed with excitement. This was his chance to prove to her, and himself, that he was a good martial artist. 

"Who am I duelling?" Draco asked as they headed toward the training room.

"You'll find out when it's over," she replied with a slightly sly smile.

Just before they entered the room, Taira paused. She turned around and placed her left hand in front of Draco's face. He flinched slightly, taken by surprise by her unexpected action but did not with withdraw. He noted she was wearing a thick silver ring on her index finger. She waved and lowered her hand, Draco's eyes following it, and he saw a matching silver cuff, ornately engraved with runes he did not recognise.

A spell had been placed on him, that much Draco could sense. 

Taira did not elaborate, only opened the door and ushered him in. 

"It's a masking spell," Taira explained. "The object of this spar is to test your martial skills without the burden of your emotions that may or may not be tied to your opponent."

It made sense. Draco saw his opponent clearly yet he could not identify him. He could've been Blaise for all Draco knew. He was slightly shorter than Draco, and a little broader in the shoulders otherwise Draco could not discern any obvious advantage he had over Draco. He stood at attention facing Taira.

"This is a hand-to-hand combat evaluation," she said. "There's no need to talk. Excessive force is not necessary. When I tell you to stop, you stop. Is that understood?"

The boys nodded.

"Bow," she commanded, and they did as they were told – first to her, then to each other. 

Once she had given them permission to go ahead, Draco didn't wait to begin. There would be none of those silly theatrical circling in futile attempts to size up the enemy. Draco struck first, catching his opponent off-guard. That gave him the opportunity to land another hit.

A smirk curled Draco's lips as he blocked a retaliatory move. Unfortunately, his smugness was his undoing. He realised too late that the previous move was merely a distraction. His opponent dropped to his knees and swept Draco's feet from under him.

The young Slytherin landed with a painful thud and winced. Rolling off his back, he sprang to his feet. Without missing a beat he moved to attack again. One of Draco's best assets was speed. He launched into a flurry of punches and kicks, hardly giving his opponent a chance to recover, successfully driving the other boy back into the wall.

Taira called a halt, and they returned to the center of the mat. Winning the first round made Draco rather proud of himself.

They resumed their positions and the spar began again. 

This time Draco's opponent made the first move. Lifting his arms to block the attack, Draco had foolishly left his flank open. Realising a second too slow, he felt the burst of pain in his ribs as his opponent struck true. Instinctively, Draco lowered his arms to shield himself, but that proved to be his second mistake. His opponent landed another hit on his jaw. The third swing came, but Draco managed to block that. However, his opponent was relentless, Draco's composure was temporarily shaken, and his opponent seized the golden opportunity to win that round. With one fluid movement, the other boy had managed to throw Draco over his shoulder. Draco landed with a painful thud.

At that point, Taira called for a stop.

They carried on sparring, sometimes the round would seemingly last for hours, and sometimes Draco had only the chance to launch an attack before Taira called for them to halt. 

Having a true opponent to spar with was rather enlightening, especially so when he did no know the identity of his rival. Draco could fight with objectivity, awarding him the clarity to determine his moves and evaluate his opponents without the burden of emotion clouding his judgement.

Draco was quite enjoying this little session.

An urgent knock resounded through the room, and Taira immediately called a halt. Even as he tried to stop, the inertia carried Draco's swing to meet with his opponent's chest in a resounding smack. The both of them tumbled clumsily into the mat.

Taira paid them no heed, speaking with their visitor in urgent whispers. She turned to regard Draco and his opponent briefly, still standing by the doorway.

"Apologies for the interruption, but there is an urgent matter that requires my attention. Take a break, gentlemen." She waved her wand carelessly then continued, "There's water on the shelf. If I'm not back in twenty minutes, you're dismissed. I will deliver my evaluation of your performances at a later time." With that she exited the room, not waiting for the boys to respond.

The door click shut, and Draco exchanged puzzled looks with his opponent. He shrugged then began to extricate himself from their undignified heap. He stood, and then bowed regally to his opponent; manners were always important. The other boy rose hastily and returned his bow.

They said nothing when Draco moved to the pitcher of water to pour himself a glass. Just as he tipped the pitcher, he felt a wave of clarity wash over him, realising that the masking spell was dissipating. 

A gasp sounded behind him, and Draco spun around to face his opponent.

Scowling at him was the one person he had not expected to have sparred with so honourably.

"Potter," he said dismissively, turning his attention back to the pitcher.

Then again, knowing how Taira felt about their rivalry, it was no surprise that she would have tested them against each other. 

A pang of dissatisfaction burned in his chest. Potter had bested him two out of three times. They were fighting their fourth when Taira was called away. Draco was confident that he would've won that round, and was half tempted to carry on.

"I didn't know the Professor was training you," Potter finally said.

"And I suppose the Professor tells you everything?" Draco moved away from the shelf and sat down, leaning against the wall between the weapon racks.

Potter scowled but did not respond. He moved to get himself a glass of water then sat against the opposite wall to where Draco was.

They said nothing, content to stare at each other. Their eyes held none of the malice that had been dominant in all their previous encounters. Instead, Draco realised, they were pensive, after having evaluated each other's skills without being blinkered by their mutual enmity. The boys were inadvertently directed to view their rival in light refracted by Taira's smoke and mirrors – that they were capable of an honourable deed.

Despite being aware of the nurtured feeling of dislike for Potter, Draco could not deny that he fought well. Draco wondered how long he had been training with Taira, though he would not ask.

After several more moments, Draco rose and strode towards the door.

"It hasn't been twenty minutes," Potter said.

"She's not coming back." He paused in his step and threw a look of disdain over his shoulders at Potter.

"How do you know?"

"Nothing urgent can be solved in twenty minutes," Draco replied dismissively and continued.

"You just can't follow instructions, can you?"

Draco let out a short bark of laughter then spun around to confront the other boy. "You're lecturing me about obedience? _You!_ The person who has undoubtedly single-handedly lost the most house points in the history of Hogwarts due to disobedience? You don't have the right to tell me off when I'm breaking the rules." Draco tossed his head indignantly.

Potter opened his mouth, as if to retort. Mutely, he snapped his mouth shut again, evidently not finding a suitable one. A flicker of a smile twitched at the corners of his lips before melting away.

"And you've always been the dutiful, filial conformist, doing exactly what you're told and what you're expected to do." Potter pursed his lips, a mocking expression of thoughtfulness on his face. "Is that some hidden Slytherin trait?"

Draco snorted. "Better to look like I'm doing what I'm told so I'm free to pursue my own agendas, than to obstinately play the rebel who everyone is determined to foil. You have no sense of subtlety, Potter. Now, _that_ is a Slytherin virtue." A smirk curled Draco's lips.

"Slytherin is made up of sneaks and liars then."

"Sticks and stones, Potter." Draco shook his head at the childish mockery. "Sticks and stones."

"And cute little hippogriffs," Potter muttered behind his grin.

"Cute? You have a very perverse sense of aesthetics. And it was by no means little." Draco cast him a last glower before turning and resuming his exit. "Good riddance, Potter. Loki knows if I stay any longer, I'll be forced to kill you painfully and messily."

"You can try," Potter called just as Draco slammed the door shut.


	12. Chapter Ten – Sudden Onslaught

It was their first outdoor Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons since the holidays. In Draco's opinion, Taira was quite brutal in dragging the class out onto the Quidditch pitch. Even though they were in February, the snow had barely melted, the ground was slushy, and there was certainly a sharp bite to the cold wind. 

Fortunately for Draco, he had learned a nifty trick over the New Year holiday to keep himself warm. He glanced at Taira, who, unlike the rest of her students, did not seem to notice the cold at all. Draco smiled smugly to himself.

As the class made their way to the pitch, Draco got stuck behind a trio of Ravenclaw girls huddled together for warmth. 

"... hear about the other Ministry employee?" One of them said.

"Which one?" Another asked.

"The one who got sick. He worked in Azkaban too. With Zacharias' uncle." 

"Really?" A third one said.

"Yeah, I hear there's more, but of course the Ministry isn't saying much. They say it's probably just a nasty bug," the first one continued.

"Are you sure they're not being killed by..." 

Draco circled around and walked past them, not really keen on hearing their half-baked theories of conspiracies and Death Eater plots. As he walked away he was certain that he heard the name "Malfoy" from their general direction. He grit his teeth; indeed, blame the nearest Slytherin.

They reached the Quidditch pitch and gathered around Taira, ready to see what she had in store for them that day. But before she could begin the lesson, a piercing scream, though distant, suddenly tore through the pitch. It took Taira a second to react. She barked crisp orders to the class, and everyone obeyed without question.

The prefects were to escort everyone back to the classroom then to find the nearest professors and alert them of potential trouble. Potter, Weasley, Blaise and Draco himself were to follow her.

Taira broke out into a speedy sprint towards the source of the screams, towards where the Care of Magical Creatures classes were held. Panicked shrieks and howls of terror grew louder, and Draco wondered what in Odin's name could that oaf Hagrid have introduced to the class to make them scream like that. 

Once they had the area in view, Draco could not help but gape in surprise. 

The class was in absolute chaos. Hagrid was valiantly trying to defend his students from what looked like a marauding horde of satyrs. Most of the students were already fleeing towards the Castle with several satyrs hot on their heels. The others were either fighting along side Hagrid or cornered around the enclosure of pumpkin patch in abject terror.

It didn't make sense; satyrs were, at worst, aloof towards humans, mostly because they were either too inebriated to care, or they thought themselves above humanity. Why, then, were they suddenly attacking a bunch of students that probably didn't have the will to give the weakest of them a nosebleed? The satyrs looked positively vicious, almost as if they were out for blood.

Draco had to wonder if they had what it took to fight a horde of magical creatures that were notoriously resistant to offensive magic. Pushing his apprehension aside, he tuned into the roaring of adrenaline in his veins instead. He did not remember ever feeling like this before, and he embraced the exhilaration with open arms. 

Was this what it was like to rush headlong into danger? Was this what Potter felt every time he went on one of his righteous rescue missions?

"Weasley! Zabini! Help them!" Taira hollared as she pointed to the children being pursued. Blaise and Weasley pelted off towards the other direction, wands at the ready. "Malfoy! Potter! Kids are the priority. Get them to safety first!" 

Potter said no more and sped towards the pumpkin patch. As he barrelled himself forward in a straight line, anything that was in his path seemingly moved out of his way. Draco then realised that Taira was responsible for giving Potter a clear path. He was surprised by the synergy of their teamwork.

How long had Taira been training Potter?

Draco then decided that there would be a time for analysis, and this was not it, especially not when a couple of satyrs were coming at him, snarling and growling.

Raising his wand, he sent a leg-locker spell at one while ducking and rolling away from the other. He knew that his spell would not have achieved the desired result, but at least it would've slowed one down. Just as Draco came out of the roll, he lashed out with his foot catching the rampaging satyr in the stomach with a satisfying oomph.

Spinning quickly on his heels, Draco hurled another spell at the earlier unsuccessfully hexed satyr. Instead of trying to stop it, Draco amplified its current inertia by employing the summoning charm instead. The satyr propelled forward as if it were on a Firebolt; Draco dodged it gracefully, and it crashed into the other satyr with a sickening crunch. 

Draco stopped just long enough to be sure that they were both out cold. A casual flick of his wand conjured thick ropes to bind the two together. 

He looked up to find Taira in close combat with a couple of particularly large satyrs. Hagrid and Potter were furiously rounding up the remainder of the students then ushered the children towards the Castle while trying to keep their attackers at bay.

Knowing that spells cast upon the satyrs themselves were virtually useless, Draco re-evaluated his approach. Instead, he began setting things, like the grass beneath the satyrs' hooves, on fire, and casting shield charms on the students. His tactic caused some confusion within the ranks of the satyrs and bought Hagrid and Potter some breathing space. 

By that time, Weasley and Blaise had rejoined them; presumably the first lot of fleeing students had made it back into the Castle. They hurriedly took down a few more satyrs then gathered the remaining children and rushed back towards the Castle again.

Confident that the children were in good hands, Draco drew his attention towards Taira and threw all of his will behind the banishing charm he directed at one of her attackers. He succeeded in knocking it across the field, but it would not stay down.

"Catch!" Taira cried. 

Draco caught the quarterstaff that Taira had thrown to him. Curling his fingers around the cool silver, revelling in the power that was now in his hands, Draco launched himself at the satyr that he had just hurled across the field.

Draco had grown up with a weapon in his hand. His father had often said that duelling, both magical and physical, was an art form, one that was the privilege and pride of the aristocracy. Draco knew that he had proven himself time and time again as a swordsman, but his skills and talents lay in the elegant moves of fencing. This fight – it was far too primal to be called a duel – was about brute force, about how well he could counter and block the attacks. This was a true test of his newfound martial prowess. If he failed, he would have more than wounded pride; the satyr looked positively murderous.

Apart from keeping his own ego intact, Draco wanted to show Taira that her efforts in training him had not gone to waste. It was in Draco's nature to prove himself worthy.

Fencing taught him how to dance away from attacks while martial arts showed him how to deflect the brunt of attacks. He blended the Oriental with the Occidental and worked them to his advantage.

Draco recognised that his current opponent was older, more experienced and was unlikely to make the same mistakes as Draco's previous fallen adversaries. His strategy was to wear the satyr down first, merely blocking and avoiding the attacks, and when it showed signs of tiring, Draco would unleash the full force of his own prowess.

Moments from achieving his goal, Potter came rushing in from nowhere and slammed into Draco's opponent. There was a frantic tussle on the ground – far too barbaric for Draco's liking.

"Potter!" Draco screeched indignantly, "What in Loki's name are you doing?"

Potter was far too busy being clawed and growled at to answer. As soon the opportunity arose, Draco landed a precise blow on the back of the satyr's head and rendered it unconscious. It slumped heavily against Potter; he wriggled out of the dead weight and scrambled to his feet.

"Damn! They smell." He wrinkled his nose distastefully.

"What was that?" Draco demanded again.

"Oh, you're welcome," Potter scowled.

"I didn't ask for your help!"

Potter rounded upon him and glared angrily at him. "Let me shed some light for you on the term 'team work' – the whole concept of it is to watch your team mates' back and trust that they are watching yours too, because at the end of the day it's about being able to walk away from a battle under your own steam. It's not about personal glory; it's about survival! If you want to make a hero out of yourself by some glorified duel with a rabid satyr do it on your own time!"

"Who are you to be lecturing me about the follies of personal glory and heroism? Your entire Hogwarts career is made up from you wanting to be a hero!"

"You think that by tormenting me for the last five years you've somehow gained some insights to who I am? You're so full of it, Malfoy! You don't know who or what I am!"

"I know you're a self-absorbed, arrogant prick who plays the woe-is-me tune all too well. You think I like attention? I don't even compare to you when it comes to attention hogging."

Potter snarled maliciously. "Yeah, and that really pisses you off, doesn't it? God forbid anyone should get more attention than the scintillating Draco Malfoy!"

Their argument was suddenly interrupted by Taira's warning cry. Instinct took over Draco as he dove into Potter to throw them out of the way. Taira vaulted over them, and her foot connected loudly with the jaw of the last standing satyr. Even though the beast fell, Taira delivered several more blows to the satyr until it stopped moving.

The realisation of what had just happened dawned upon Draco, and he was too afraid to take his eyes off the defeated satyr. Taira was probably going to castrate him and Potter for that mistake.

It was sheer morbid curiosity that made Draco turn and meet her eyes. Fury and disappointment clearly burned in them. Draco wasn't sure which was worse. Draco knew that she would've ripped them to shreds if it were not for the arrival of the other professors.

Hagrid, Potter and Draco were ordered back into the Castle and straight to Madam Pomfrey. Hagrid was the only one that bore any obvious injuries with deep cuts on his arms and bruising on his cheek. Draco was lucky enough to escape unscathed, but he noticed that a mud-splattered and grass-stained Potter was limping slightly and wincing with each step. Guiltily, Draco wondered if he was the cause of that injury.

Perhaps it was that little speech about team work that Potter had given, or it was the shameful feeling about their childish quarrel that had almost gotten them both hurt, or it was despite their screaming and shouting at each other, Draco really didn't wish the worst on Potter, that he fell in step with the Gryffindor and silently threw Potter's arm over his shoulders as he hooked his own around Potter to help take the weight off the injured ankle.

To his credit, Potter didn't protest nor recoil, though Draco was more pleased that he didn't gush out any awkward gratitude. He didn't think he could stomach any kind of sentimentality from Potter. His own compassionate action was puzzling enough; he didn't really want to think of anything else.

Draco did not remember ever seeing the medical wing this full of people. There were a lot of crying children, most terrified and some injured. He realised then that this was the youngest Care of Magical Creatures class, and he was silently impressed by those whom he had witnessed fighting alongside Hagrid to protect their teacher and classmates.

It was a deed worthy of Potter, and Draco was somewhat ashamed to admit that if it had happened to his class back in the third year, he would be one of those fleeing for his life, and Potter would be the one fighting. Perhaps that was why Potter was hero-worshiped and Draco was not.

"Malfoy?" Potter's voice sliced through his musings.

"What?"

"I'll be okay." Potter replied slipping his arm away from Draco's shoulder and hobbled to the nearest bed.

Draco nodded lightly and stepped away. Just as he was going to leave he spotted Blaise at the other end of the wing sitting in one of the beds. Draco felt an uneasy squirm in the pit of his stomach when he entertained the idea that Blaise was a casualty of this battle.

"Blaise, what happened? Are you okay?" Draco asked as he approached the boy.

Irritation was clearly in the boy's eyes. "Stupid kids. You save them and they hex you instead."

"What?"

"One of the kids got a little excited about helping," Weasley replied. Draco had not even noticed he was there. There was a rip on one of his sleeves and blood had clearly seeped through it. "Her intentions were honourable, but her aim was bad. It hit Zabini instead. I had to drag his sorry arse in here to be fixed."

Draco grit his teeth trying not to laugh. "Not that it would've made a difference. Satyrs are highly resistant to offensive magic."

"Yes, it would!" Blaise complained, "It wouldn't have hurt me!"

"What hex was it?" Draco asked.

"If you answer that, Weasley, I swear I'll do worse with the hexing and you'll be better of six feet underground."

Weasley had an incredibly huge grin on his face. Draco was surprised to say the least. Could Blaise and Weasley actually tolerate each other? Maybe they had understood the concept of teamwork better than he and Potter had.

Blaise flicked his wrist dismissively. "Run along, little Gryffindor, and see if your precious poster child hasn't been too badly broken in the fight."

"Harry's injured?" Weasley immediately whipped around to look for him. Without further word he left the pair of Slytherins.

"Damn. Talk about protective," Blaise said as he watched the redhead dash away. "Do you think they're doing it?"

Draco groaned and dropped his head into his hand in despair. "Zabini, please don't put that kind of imagery in my head."

Blaise laughed, jumping off the bed. "Let's get out of here before Madam Pomfrey assigns us to triage duties or something. The wailing kids are giving me a headache."

"You're not the humanitarian kind, are you?"

"Pfft! And you are? Besides, I'm a soldier not a medic. I've done my part."

They were halfway to the door when it swung open with a bang. Everyone jumped and the room became quiet. Madam Pomfrey huffed indignantly and opened her mouth to voice it, but she didn't get a chance.

"Mister Potter! Mister Malfoy!" Taira barked in a loud, clear voice. The same fury that Draco had seen in her eyes earlier was still there. "With me, _now_!"

"Professor Taira," Madam Pomfrey protested. "I have just fixed Mister Potter's ankle and have not had the chance to examine Mister Malfoy – "

"With all due respect, Madam," Taira interrupted, "Mister Malfoy does not look like he has sustained any fatal injuries. If indeed he has sustained any at all, I will send him back once I have spoken with him. As for Mister Potter, I only require his ears to be functioning, he can listen well enough with a freshly fixed ankle. Gentlemen, this way."

She spun on her heels and marched out of the room. The boys followed her in silence, both looking like dead men walking, to their training room. The door shut behind them, and a deadly silence engulfed the room. The boys stood still, watching Taira pace the length and breadth of the room.

"Remember what I said to you after your first lesson with me?" she asked, a hint of steel underlying her voice.

Draco and Potter exchanged a quiet look before the latter ventured, "That we were to leave our testosterone induced bull fights at the doorstep?"

"Excellent memory, Mister Potter." She smiled, but there was no mirth behind it. "That instruction may have to be extended to every aspect of your life because, frankly, I'm _sick_ to death of it!" she snarled.

"You want to have a go at each other?" She glowered at them. "Fine!" She waved her wand and the boys' favoured weapons came soaring from the weapons rack towards them. The weapons connected with their palms with resounding smacks. Draco hid his wince. 

"Take your best shot. Beat each other to a pulp! Scream and shout! Punch, kick, bite – do whatever it takes to get that goddamned pettiness out of your system because I do not want to see it again!"

The boys stood immobile, weapons in their hands, staring at their professor. They had never seen her this angry before.

"What are you waiting for, boys?" she demanded. "I've given you free reign to express your feelings for each other, whatever they may be. No points will be taken from your houses, no detentions need to be served. Isn't this what you want? Isn't this what you've been working yourself up to all these years? You've no doubt honed your verbal skills to hurl insults at each other marvellously, well now you've got the martial skills to inflict physical pain as well."

Taira circled the boys ominously. Draco wished fervently at that point that he could Disapparate. In all his life, he had never had a reprimand affect him the way Taira's did then. He didn't know why her opinion of him mattered so much to him. He only knew that he had disappointed her, and he was quite ashamed at that prospect. By the looks on Potter's face, he felt the same too.

"I'm waiting," she said.

The boys exchanged another uncertain glance. Draco certainly didn't feel like he wanted to beat Potter up. Sure, getting under Potter's skin could be entertaining at times, but Draco's desire to humiliate Potter had somewhat waned. He no longer found satisfaction in such lowbrow activities.

"Get it out of your system, gentlemen," Taira repeated herself, "I did not spend the last few months training you both so that you can stand in the middle of a battlefield sniping childishly at each other to give your opponents the perfect opportunity to put daggers in your backs!"

"We thought that the battle was over," Potter said in a lame attempt to defend himself and Draco. Draco wished that he hadn't because Taira became more furious.

"The battle is never over," she intonated every syllable fiercely. "Have I never said that you should not let your guard down? To be distracted by an enemy is one thing, to deliberately be distracted by screaming at your own team-mate is unacceptable! You want to kill yourself? Jump off a bridge, don't endanger anyone else on the team!"

"It was my fault." Draco could not believe that he just said that. "I started the ... screaming."

"Very noble of you, Mister Malfoy, to take the fall for your team-mate," Taira replied. "You will learn the true meaning of co-operation yet. However, you're _both_ at fault."

She studied the boys for a moment then her voice softened, but only slightly. "From today onwards, you will both train together, or not. That is up to you. I will not waste anymore of my time trying to teach people who are more interested in hurting allies than they are in defeating their enemy. At some point in the future, the hands of fate will test you. I pray that you will be prepared for what is to come, for destiny and vengeance are cruel mistresses."

With that Taira swept out of the training room leaving the boys to gape at her aghast.

"Great, Potter!" Draco snarled, throwing his weapon furiously against the wall. "Just great!"

"Yes, and my heart is positively quivering with excitement at the prospect of training with a git like you," was Potter's sarcastic reply.

"Oh, be quiet, Potter." Draco's desire to pummel the other boy had resurfaced. "I didn't sign up for this! I'm not interested in defeating the enemy! I've no interest in being a hero in training."

"Then what the hell did you sign up for? To have some one-on-one time with the youngest and most attractive professor in the faculty?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not like you, Neanderthal. I do not need pathetic excuses to cosy up with anyone of my choosing."

Potter snorted. "Oh, right, I forgot, you've got all the charms and good looks to get you what you want."

"I'm glad we finally agree on something."

"My god, you're so full of yourself! How does Rei tolerate you?" Potter sat down on the training mat with his legs crossed.

"Oh, it's Rei now, is it?" Draco leered at him. "You are such a hypocrite!"

Potter scowled at him. "We were friends before she started teaching here."

"Friends, riiiiiiight. That's why you're positively seething with jealousy. That's why you were warning me off at our first lesson with our dear Rei- Rei."

The Gryffindor swore at Draco then snapped, "Our relationship has nothing to do with you."

Draco pretended not to hear him. "Hmm... Rei-Rei. I like the sound of that."

"Have you no respect?"

"What? For you? Certainly not." Draco replied haughtily.

"How does anyone tolerate you?"

"Just because you are not privileged enough to be on the receiving end of my charm, it doesn't mean that no one is. Like respect, I don't dish it out to any Tom, Dick and Harry that saunters by."

"Name one person then."

Draco gave him a predatory smirk. "Rei-Rei, of course."

Potter glared at him somewhat murderously.

"You call me arrogant, yet you think that you're the only person important enough to be trained by her."

"She trains Ron and Hermione as well."

"Oh, so you think only bloody Gryffindors are good enough for her, but not the rest of us, eh?" Draco eyed him coolly. "Well, I have news for you, you and your precious lions aren't all that special. Taira has not been blinded by the garish hue of your red banners. 

"You can have your prejudices, Potter. I'm not so insecure about my own abilities that I have to constantly think of myself as an appendage to Slytherin."

"Only because Slytherin doesn't want you to be a part of them," Potter spat spitefully.

"Hmmm, the kitten has grown claws. Vindictiveness does not become you. It'll tarnish that shiny halo of yours." Draco laughed, cold and mirthless. "If you're trying to hurt me with your words, you need more practice. I've been the receiving end of far more callous remarks than that."

Potter swore vividly. "Get it through your thick head, Malfoy – I'm not trying to hurt you! I'm not trying to do anything to you! Except maybe wish you would just go away. You are not the center of my universe."

Draco's eyes narrowed maliciously at the Gryffindor. "And yet every time I bloody turn around I see your self-righteous mug. If I didn't know better I'd think you were stalking me."

"Oh yes, that's what I do for thrills – I spend my waking hours trailing after my most formidable rival at school who gives me nothing but grief."

"Careful now, Potter." Draco leered. "That sound dangerously like a compliment."

"You wish," Potter snorted then stalked towards the door. He paused just before exiting to say, "My training sessions are on Mondays," then promptly slammed the door behind him.


	13. Chapter Eleven – Humble Pie

By breakfast the next day, Hogwarts was awash with embellished tales of heroics. Naturally, the protagonist of such stories was one Harry Potter, slayer of satyrs, saviour of all wizardkind. Weasley, forevermore hovering on the fringes of Potter's limelight, finally had the chance to bask in it alongside his best friend.

It didn't surprise Draco at all that he and Blaise were overlooked in the fanfare. Draco, uncharacteristically, did not mind. In fact, he would rather not gain his fame saving annoying, screaming children.

The hero-worship carried on for the rest of the week. A small crowd could be seen gathering around the Gryffindor table, no doubt enjoying some farfetched story that Weasley was weaving to please the crowd. Granger looked suitably embarrassed and annoyed in equal measures. While Potter had a placid smile on his face and occasionally nodded at Weasley's prompting, he looked like he would rather be somewhere else.

"Wishing that you were hailed the hero?" Blaise asked with a cheeky grin when he had spotted Draco looking at the Gryffindors.

"If you have to ask that, then you know nothing of me." Draco shook his head. "I am disappointed, Zabini."

Blaise laughed. "You'd rather be known as the one who set the satyrs loose, don't you?"

"Oh, please, that is so boorish. If I wanted to cause chaos, I'd do something with a little more elegance."

"What do you suppose incited that attack?" Blaise asked speculatively.

"Who knows?" Draco shrugged. "Satyrs have always moved on their own agenda. Although, it wouldn't surprise me if the oaf had somehow angered them the way he goes trampling into the Forest."

"Perhaps. While most regard him as a simpleton, Hagrid is far more astute than credit is given, especially where the Forest is concerned. I think it's something to do with his inherent bestial nature."

"If you say so." Draco rose and picked up his bag and headed to his first class with Blaise. Just as they left the Great Hall, a voice called out Draco's name. Draco turned to see a Hufflepuff, whose face and name he didn't know, running up to him. Judging by the boy's stature Draco guessed that he was in the fourth or fifth year.

"Malfoy," he said again holding his hand out. "I just wanted to thank you."

Draco eyed him coldly.

The Hufflepuff pressed on, seemingly oblivious to the hostility that Draco was displaying. "For saving my sister. I know everyone thinks that Potter and Weasley are the only heroes but we know you were there too. And Zabini."

A pale eyebrow rose, still Draco did not respond.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know you made a difference," the Hufflepuff lowered his hand. Nervousness had finally set in. With a quick smile and nod, he turned around and hurried back to his table.

Draco spun around and carried on walking to class.

"You are so gracious." Blaise smirked.

"Shut it, Zabini."

~*~

Draco paused momentarily before pushing the door to the training room open. He knew that Taira would be true to her word and not be there, but he was uncertain whether Potter would turn up. After all, he had not turn up on Potter's designated day. Not just because he hadn't want to, but also because he had an essay due in on Tuesday.

Draco knew that he should not expect anything from Potter. After all they had not agreed upon anything, nor were they ordered to train together. Taira gave them a choice, and Draco wondered if Potter would choose to train with him.

In part, Draco could not think of a better partner to train with. He had seen a measure of Potter's prowess and knew him to be a worthy opponent. Yet given their history, would they succeed in learning from each other or would it turn out to be a regular activity where they vented their frustrations out on each other in the most primal fashion?

The door swung open. The room wasn't empty, much to Draco's surprise and chagrin.

"You're late." Potter said.

"And?"

"Are you always this impertinent to Professor Taira?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Draco continued his way into the changing rooms. "What are you doing here?"

Potter followed him. "Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Is that?"

Potter sighed then said, "To train, why else do I want to spend any time looking at your arrogant mug?"

"Oh, don't make any sacrifices on my account, Potter." Draco began to strip out of his robes. "I didn't ask you to come."

"No, Taira instructed us to train together." Potter snapped. "Now stop preening naked in front of the mirror and get dressed. We haven't got all night!"

"Naked?" Draco laughed mockingly. Although he had shed his school uniform, he was still wearing a pair of fitting suede trousers he customarily wore under his robes. He then leered at the other boy, as he slowly unlaced them, "Maybe in your dreams, Potter."

Potter did not reply as he turned and stalked out of the changing room. Draco laughed to himself. He lamented the time lost – all this years he had been trying to humiliate Potter when embarrassing the Gryffindor was far more fun

Draco donned his training attire then headed back to the main training chamber. Potter was warming up by a weapons rack. Draco's stride became longer and faster, and without warning he attacked.

Startled and unprepared by sudden attack, Potter was quickly pinned against the rack.

"Tsk, tsk, Potter," Draco drawled in Potter's ear, "Constant vigilance."

"Trust you to be a backstabbing fiend." Potter growled. "I know how to hit below the belt too."

Realising that was actually a double entendre Draco hurriedly released Potter and leapt back to defend his precious personal asset. Potters' knee met resistance in Draco's crossed arms.

Draco bit back a laugh. Evidently, Potter was capable of being underhanded too. Wasting no time in pondering the revelation, Draco filed that titbit away and attacked again.

This time, Potter managed to block and counter Draco's move. They exchanged a few more blows. When the opportunity presented itself, Draco lunged for the weapons rack again and picked up a sabre. He had always preferred to fight with a blade in his hand – he found it more elegant than throwing punches with his fists.

With a flick of his wrist, Draco made the first cut on Potter's right arm. Had the weapons not been enchanted, Draco would've drawn blood. Instead, an angry red welt appeared on Potter's flesh instead. 

"First blood," Draco grinned, "Figuratively speaking of course."

Potter growled, leaping to arm himself with a long sword. Without hesitating, he swung the blade at Draco, and Draco was thrilled to find that Potter wasn't quite that elegant with a weapon in his hand.

As they continued to attack, the duel slowly became more of a brawl than training. While they had hesitated in challenging each other in Taira's presence, they certainly did not have any reservations in attempting to hurt one another now that they were without an audience.

While Draco was determined to win, exhaustion was catching up to him. A hint of pride, stubbornness and the realisation that Potter was tiring too kept him going. Draco was going to win, even if he had to run Potter to the ground. 

Sure enough, Potter eventually fumbled and Draco successfully pinned Potter to the ground, his sabre pointed at Potter's chest. A smirk curled Draco's lips triumphantly, taking a few moments to savour his victory.

Potter scowled. "Fine, you won this round, stop leering at me."

Draco chuckled and withdrew his sabre. "This round? You can barely stand, Potter, there will be no more rounds. Besides, I have better things to do than spend my evenings with you."

"Don't be so smug, Malfoy, you're not the Energizer bunny either." Potter rose and returned his weapon to the rack.

"I presume that is some obscure Muggle reference," Draco said in disdain, making his way to the changing room. "Please spare me of that filth."

Potter followed him in. "I like it better when you aren't talking, Malfoy. The crap that comes out of your mouth is just disgusting."

"You're under the delusion that I like having a conversation with you," Draco replied tartly.

Potter did not reply; instead he turned his back to Draco and began changing out of his training attire. Draco's eyes widened slightly when he saw the welts and bruises on Potter's back and arms. Checking his own, Draco found he had not escaped unscathed. The dull throb in his body told him he had taken some hits, but he had not realised how much. Had they really been that brutal in beating each other up? By tomorrow, the ache would ten-fold.

"We should go to Madam Pomfrey." Potter suddenly said. He too had also been examining their injuries.

"Do not presume to tell me what to do, Potter." With that, Draco finished getting dressed and headed back to the Slytherin dungeons.

~*~

"So this is what it tastes like," Draco groused almost to himself.

"What?" Potter asked. 

"The infernal humble pie." 

Three weeks after being dismissed by Taira, the boys had finally agreed that they needed her tutelage if they wished to progress. Truth to be told, it was Potter's idea and he had spent the last week trying to convince Draco of it. Potter was insistent that the only way Taira was going to train them again was if they both displayed a united front, and to do that meant that they first had to apologise together.

Potter, Draco realised, was persistent and tenacious if nothing else. After their one unsuccessful training session on their own, which almost landed them in the hospital wing again, Draco had not turned up for the next. Two weeks of Draco's absence had prompted Potter to ambush him before breakfast, after the classes they shared, whenever Potter's misbegotten path crossed his in the hallways. Blaise had valiantly offered to be Draco's advance guard, but Potter had sent in his own scouts to distract Blaise. While Draco was still concerned about his reputation, after all old habits die hard, Potter couldn't care less about what the masses were whispering about.

Eventually, Draco gave up and gave Potter five minutes to present his case. The Gryffindor was eloquent when he was passionate and he was certainly very keen on getting back on Taira's good side. To be honest, Draco had missed Taira too, but that didn't stop him from playing devil's advocate. If for nothing else, it was entertaining to see how inventive and creative Potter got with his arguments to get Draco to agree.

So after an exhausting debate, Draco acquiesced; thus they were now heading to Taira's office to eat humble pie.

Potter snorted. "I'm guessing you've never tasted that before."

"And for your sake, you'd better pray I will never again."

"You're blaming me for this and all future apologies you might one day make?"

"Of course I am, you insufferable bumpkin!" Draco snapped.

"We're supposed to be presenting a united front."

"Hex me. I agreed, didn't I? I am a man of my word, but I didn't say I'd start liking you."

The grin that Potter had was absolutely disgusting. "The world would spin off its axis if you made such a sacrifice."

"Wipe that smirk off your face or I'll do it for you." Draco shot an irritated look at him. "Besides, looking like a bloody cat who caught the canary is not an expression that shows repentance."

"At least I don't look like someone's broken my favourite toy," Potter retorted.

"Oh, do shut up, Potter, lest you want me to break YOUR favourite toy."

They glared at each other for a moment before turning to stare at Taira's door like it was something to be revered or feared. They exchanged glances again – Draco would never admit that their expressions were nervous ones, heavens no, not when it was Potter he was making the exchange with. He gave Potter a look that said, "Knock, you imbecile!"

Potter cast him a cross look before knocking sharply on the old oak door. After a moment of silence, the door swung open. Taira was still seated behind her desk, her look inquisitive.

"Gentlemen," she said. "To what do I owe the honour?"

Draco stepped into the room behind Potter and remained behind him. This was his idea, so he could damn well lead the show. Luckily, Potter got the hint.

"We came to apologise."

"For what?" Taira asked.

Potter continued confidently. "For our childish, selfish behaviour three weeks ago. We realised how foolish it was and it was never out intention to put anyone in danger."

"Are you truly sorry for what you did?"

"Yes," Potter replied without hesitation.

When Draco realised that Taira was looking at him for agreement as well, he offered her an imperial nod. Even if he was forced to eat that wretched humble pie he was going to do it with dignity.

"In that case, your apologies should be directed to each other, not me."

Potter looked mildly confused. Draco guessed that this was not one of the scenarios that he had prepared for.

"Did you think that I stopped working with you because I felt like I needed an apology from you?" Taira rose from behind her desk then gestured for the boys to sit down on the couch in the parlour next to her office. "Do you think I stopped teaching you because you made a mistake?"

Draco wasn't sure that any kind of answer wouldn't be considered a bad answer, thus he kept his mouth shut and sat down. Potter followed suit, much to his relief.

"I'll take your silence as a yes." She smiled knowingly. "Mistakes are a part of life. What is important is that you learn from it. I don't need any apologies; I only need you to not do it again. If you feel the need to apologise then you should offer it to the person that you endangered. It is your obstinacy in refusing to learn from it that I do not approve of."

She regarded the boys silently for a moment. "Since the incident, I've been thinking. I've spent just over a term here and already I've heard all about your altercations from various sources. It's impressive, to say the least, but I think it's become a farce."

A frown unwittingly furrowed Draco's brow. Just what exactly was she trying to imply?

She smirked. "What exactly are you both fighting about these days? Do you think this is an epic battle of good versus evil? Do you think it's because you hate each other?" She paused. "Well, I don't think it is about that at all. This may have started out with a misunderstanding or an angry exchange. Left unchecked it inadvertently ushered in jealousy and adversarial tendencies. However, underlying all that negative emotion is admiration that neither one of you are man enough to admit. From there it blossomed into something more profound, something beyond the simple boundaries of hate or love, good or evil."

While his face was an impassive mask, Draco was certainly gaping at her on the inside.

"Today, it's about acting on habit rather than conscious choice. You've been hurting each other for so many years you no longer think that there's another way to treat each other. It never occurred to you that as you grow up, you are allowed to grow out of your childish vendetta too. You're too comfortable in the routine you have established for the last five years and too afraid to venture out into the unknown."

She knelt by the fireplace and threw a few logs into the waning fire. "I dare say that both of you have been through some significant events in the last six months. Even the most trivial of circumstances can change a man. I find it hard to believe that both of you have emerged untouched."

Leaning against the mantle piece, she continued, "Perhaps you're hanging on to this vendetta because it's the one thing that has been constant in your lives. At this point, you both need security and consistency more than anything. So you hang on to it fiercely because you fear that to change the dynamics of your relationship might just be the catalyst to its destruction. It's a risk that you aren't willing to take."

Taira then sat down in the armchair next to the couch. "You can tell me I'm wrong. After all, I've only known you both for a scant few months."

"You're wrong," Draco said immediately, his voice firm, brooking no argument. He kept his eyes steadily on Taira, perhaps too afraid to see if Potter thought differently.

"Then I apologise for being presumptuous." Taira smiled wistfully.

The crackling of firewood was the only sound that filled the parlour for a few minutes. It was a reflective moment of silence that allowed Taira's words to sink into the boys' mind. Notwithstanding of whether they would reject or accept them, those words were heard.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, gentlemen?" she eventually asked.

Potter snapped out of his reverie and looked earnestly at her. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Potter's saintly expression.

"Will you consent to training us again?" he asked, eyes alight with hopeful enthusiasm.

Taira studied them intently then said, "No."

"What? Why?" Potter blurted.

"Whatever else you need to learn you will have to learn it on your own," she replied calmly. "There might come a time when you will need further guidance, I shall endeavour to be there to assist you. Moreover, Mister Potter, there are other more pressing matters that require my personal attention."

Potter nodded reluctantly.

"Now if there is nothing else, gentlemen, I trust I need not show you the way out?"

Draco rose immediately and left. He knew when he was being dismissed and didn't fancy begging Taira. He wanted to leave with at least a little bit of pride intact. This was Potter's fault – Draco certainly didn't want to have another serving of humble pie. Whether Potter followed him or not he didn't know nor care.


	14. Chapter Twelve – Moonlit Rendezvous

_"The recent spate of illness among Ministry employees is becoming a concern for the public. Nevertheless the Ministry is adamant that there is nothing to fear and that an investigation is underway. There has not been any official statement from them. Even the Healers in St. Mungo's have been cautioned not to speak to the media."_ Pansy read.

"Why are you reading this out, Pansy?" Draco asked in a bored tone.

"You asked about it!" she snapped peevishly

"I was just being polite."

"People are dying and you aren't even batting an eyelid?"

Draco sighed exasperatedly. "Of course people are dying, the Dark Lord has returned, hasn't he? He and the Death Eaters will be blamed and we Slytherins will be ousted because of our association with the serpentine house."

"This is different," Pansy protested, "Purebloods are dying."

"No, people who do not stand with the Dark Lord are dying. It doesn't really matter how pure their blood is." Draco was tempted to continue, citing how the Dark Lord's agenda was not longer focused on restoring the purity of their race, but more inclined to reaping power and destroying Harry Potter. Fortunately Draco held his tongue in time; it was not wise to speak against the Dark Lord so openly, especially when his father had failed the Dark Lord so spectacularly.

Pansy retorted indignantly, "Ministry employees are not the only ones who are getting sick."

"Oh? And where did you get that insightful piece of information?"

"Never you mind. You don't care anyway."

Draco laughed. "You are such a tease, Miss Parkinson. Sadly, your little mind games don't work on me anymore. Sooner or later, I'll hear about it anyway. Unlike you, I don't depend on gossip to keep my day interesting."

Draco smirked at Pansy, putting her in a huff. Seeing that Draco would not take her bait, she stalked off to lord over her gang of Slytherin girls instead. He then rose and headed towards the dungeon exit, feeling the need to be out of the claustrophobic subterranean atmosphere. Sometimes Draco wondered if Salazar Slytherin drew the short straw when the founders were allocating common rooms. Even as the wondered, Draco thought that it was unlikely. Given Salazar's affinity to serpents and intrigue, he would've have felt very much at home in the bowels of the Castle.

Not having any particular destination, Draco roamed the Castle courtyards aimlessly. It was late and while his knew his prefect status gave him some authority to be out of the common room after hours, he chose the courtyards because he knew Filch hardly patrolled them. Moreover, he wanted some fresh air.

Like the compass point being drawn to the north, Draco was compelled to the east. As he drew near the courtyard where he had first duelled Taira, he was surprised to find it occupied once again. Except it wasn't Taira but Gryffindor's favourite pair – Potter and the Mudblood.

Draco approached but stayed hidden in the shadows to watch them. Granger stood at the opposite end to a wooden target. The centre of the target was painted red; it was perhaps only six inches in diameter. Potter was perched on the low bench behind her. Granger then raised her right hand; the throwing knife caught the moonlight and gleamed silver. With a decisive flick of her wrist the blade flew then hit the target with dull thunk. Draco saw that she missed the centre by a mere inch.

With her face screwed up in determination, Granger let loose another four more blades. Two out of the five had landed within the target; the others close but not close enough. She scowled at it disapprovingly.

Potter chuckled. "You're being too hard on yourself. You don't have to have perfect scores every time, you know."

"There's nothing wrong with striving for perfection," Granger exclaimed indignantly.

The night was quiet, and their voices carried to Draco clearly. He could not recall ever overhearing a normal conversation between them. He was intrigued to find how differently their voices sounded when they weren't talking to him. 

Potter's voice was calm and authoritative. It was the kind of voice that you felt you could obey, a voice that would promise good things. Perhaps that was why he had made Quidditch Captain and why so many were enthralled by him.

Underlying Granger's voice was a tone of refined intellect and worldliness. Her ordinary looks belied the cunning in her voice, a voice that inspired trust, and yet a voice that said it would be imprudent to contradict or question her.

"No one's perfect," Potter replied. "All you can do is your best."

"I know." She sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. "Just remember that yourself, Harry."

Potter smiled wryly. "Don't worry about that. I've never tried for perfect. Getting through the day alive with all my limbs intact is good enough for me."

For a moment, Granger looked ready to chastise him, but instead she giggled. "I'd better go; I have some prefect duties to carry out. Do you mind putting these away?"

"Not at all."

Granger smiled at him, gave him a quick hug then dashed off. Potter looked at her retreating figure for a while before swishing his wand at the throwing knives. The silver blades soared towards Potter then landed gently on a bench next to him. He picked up a box by his feet then began putting the knives in it.

Draco stepped into the courtyard and seated himself languidly on a bench at the opposite side of Potter.

"A little late night practice with your girlfriend? How romantic," Draco drawled.

Startled by the Draco appearance Potter spun around, a blade still in his hand. He looked ready to hurl it at Draco but Draco had his wand at the ready.

"You really shouldn't play with sharp objects, Potter. You might hurt yourself."

"What do you want?" Potter asked tersely.

"Oh, world domination and universal adoration would be nice."

Potter grunted in disgust and resumed packing the knives away. "If you're going to be in the way and annoying, make yourself useful and take the target down."

"In the way?" Draco laughed. "Potter, I'm twenty feet away from you."

"Fine, whatever, just shut up then." Potter muttered as he took the target down himself.

"Oh yes, and I'm likely to adhere to your requests." Draco smirked. "So how many of you holier-than-thou lions did dear Rei-rei train? You're not starting another army are you?"

"That is none of your business."

Draco ignored the brush off. "Well, if the Mudblood has learned to hurl pointy knives, I'm sure the Weasel would've been taught something. Heaven knows he doesn't like to be left behind, always scrabbling to get as little as a strand of hair into the spotlight that you've hoarded so jealously."

A stream of red sparks whizzed past Draco and hit the pillar behind him. Potter stood glowering at Draco. Draco might have been a little more alarmed if Potter hadn't missed him by more than a foot. He knew that Potter's aim was much better than that, no doubt that first shot was only a warning.

"Oh, are we duelling again?" Draco asked lazily as he stood up and took several steps towards Potter, his wand in his hand. "I supposed I can spare a few moments to beat you once more. Maybe then you'll learn some humility."

Potter let out a mocking laugh. "If there're any lessons to be learned, you are the one who has to learn them. Don't you get it, Malfoy? Your vaunted reign of terror is over. Even your little cronies have left your side. Must be awfully draughty now that you haven't got those lumps of rocks flanking you."

"I could ask you the same; I don't see Tweedledee and Tweedledum either." Draco sniffed haughtily.

"Well, unlike you and your _friends_ ," Potter emphasised the word friends as if he were mocking the word, "We aren't joined at the hip and we are quite capable of independent thought. Carry on like that, Malfoy and you will definitely end up on your own."

At that, Draco laughed. "You don't know anything about me, Potter. You think you're the only captain in this school? You think you're the only one capable of leading those loyal to him to a better future?"

Draco turned his back on Potter. "Just because you are in the ramblings of a fraudulent seer doesn't mean that you are the only one that people can believe in." And with that, Draco left the courtyard and headed back to the dungeons; he had had enough of fresh air for one night.

While trudging back to his common room, Draco was waylaid.

"Draco," Snape said as he came down the corridor where his classroom was. He had a rack of potions in his hands.

"Professor," Draco inclined his head politely.

"If you are not otherwise occupied, I could use another pair of hands."

"Always a pleasure to serve."

"Good, come with me." Snape turned and headed back to his classroom. Draco followed, wondering why Snape was brewing potions this late in the day. Was this something that the potions master often did?

When the door to the classroom swung open, Draco was surprised to find about a dozen of cauldrons brewing. The fumes from the various potions had coalesced into a noxious cloud which floated by the ceiling; it made Draco's eyes water a little.

Snape did not waste any time explaining himself. He merely dispensed a series of instructions on how each of the remaining potions were to be bottled. Once they had been bottled, Draco was to take them to the hospital wing. Snape did not repeat himself and at that moment, Draco was grateful for his elephantine memory.

As he made his way to the hospital wing, Draco wondered if someone had taken ill or if this exercise was something Snape and Madam Pomfrey carried out on a regular basis. After all, potion making was a major aspect in Healing.

Four beds in the hospital wing were occupied. The occupants looked quite young and Draco was sure he recognised a couple of them to be Slytherin. So someone was indeed ill, and if they were Slytherin, there was no doubt as to why Snape had been working late.

The potions master and the matron stood at the furthest bed, talking in hushed whispers. Snape looked up as Draco approached. He thanked Draco then instructed him to return to the classroom to bottle the remaining potions, stressing that a number of them must be kept air tight within the hour or they would lose their potency. Again, Snape did not explain himself further. Instead, he hurriedly ushered Draco out of the hospital wing.

~*~

When Draco returned to the common room on Friday evening, he was greeted by a buzz of commotion. The common room was rarely this busy and very few events evoked such anxiousness.

A part of Draco was curious, but the stronger half of him refused to indulge in gossip. He meandered through the groups of chattering students towards his dormitory.

"Malfoy," a voice cut through the hubbub.

Draco turned and found their Quidditch Captain, Urquhart, approaching. "What do you want?" Draco asked brusquely. 

Urquhart was a fool, as far as Draco was concerned. While the Captain could fly well, he, by no means, possessed the capacity to formulate any winning strategies. Like his predecessor, he relied too much on brute force and foul play to gain the upper hand. 

When Draco was younger, indulging in the occasional rough housing on the pitch was fun, but he had outgrown such childishness. Quidditch was a game of grace and cunning.

"We could use you as a Seeker against Ravenclaw tomorrow."

Draco laughed, then turned to continued on his way. "No, thank you."

"Malfoy, the team needs you." Urquhart reached out to grab Draco's arm

"I'd advise you to let go, Urquhart, and never do that again." Draco said in a pleasant voice that was underlined with venom.

Urquhart let go but did not back off. "Look, we're a few players short and you're the only one with experience. If you don't play, we'll have to forfeit."

"Oh well, isn't that a shame?" Draco smirked again and turned once more to walk away. "Find someone else, I'm not interested. If you're lucky, maybe the Ravenclaws will misplace some of their players."

Urquhart was wise not to pressure Draco. When Draco got to his dormitory, he found Blaise lounging with a book.

"Did you have to run the gauntlet to get in here?" Blaise asked.

"If by that you mean did Urquhart waylay me, then yes."

"I thought he might ask you to play again."

"Why are they in such desperate need for players?" Draco asked as he pulled his boots off.

"Some students have suddenly taken ill."

"All of them players? Isn't that a little suspicious?"

"No, just three, and some of them are from the other houses as well." 

"Urquhart really didn't plan for contingencies, did he? Although I'm surprised there aren't more people clamouring to volunteer."

"Sure, people have volunteered, but he's not likely to simply pick anyone until he gets the best ones first, namely you."

Draco laughed. "If he thought I was the best, he didn't really make an effort to keep me when I resigned."

"Don't you think it's a little worrying that so many people are falling sick?" Blaise looked up from his book.

"Students get sick every year. It's the hazard of close quarters living," Draco replied pulling his school robes off.

"Yes, we get the occasional sniffle, but don't you think this is a little more serious?"

"If it were, I'm certain the professors would've done something about it. You're getting paranoid in your old age."

Blaise studied him for a moment before saying, "And you seem rather complacent about everything, and I do mean everything."

"What would you have me do, Blaise?" Draco resisted the urge to sigh.

Blaise did not answer; he merely raised a shoulder indifferently then drew his eyes back to his book. Draco picked up his towel and toiletries and then proceeded to the prefects' bathroom.

When Draco entered the bathroom he tripped over something lying just behind the door. He fell in an undignified heap and was quite ready to castrate the prefect that had left his junk strewn across the floor.

Picking himself off the floor, Draco spun around, preparing to kick the offending object into the corner. When he saw what the object was, Draco halted his action, even though he was tempted to kick it anyway.

For, there, lying upon the floor, was a house-elf dressed in the trademark Hogwarts tea-towel.

Draco wondered what in the world could've possessed the elf to take a nap in the prefects' bathroom. If it was not asleep, it was probably knocked out, but by what? Draco nudged the elf with his boot-toe to see if it would respond.

A muffled squeak was issued but not from the unconscious elf. Evidently, there was another elf in the room.

"Come out," Draco said in a commanding voice. Growing up in a manor run by elves, Draco was no stranger to ordering them about.

From behind a door cubicle small figure scrambled out. It looked terrified and did not dare look at Draco.

"What is going on?" Draco asked.

"Dinky not know, sir," it replied in a timid voice.

While house-elves were considered intelligent, Draco knew that their intelligence was somewhat selective and they did not view the world through the same looking glass as humans did. He had learned the best way to extract information from them. "Tell me what you know."

"Dinky and Bobos is cleaning bathroom like always. When Bobos do scrubbing spell, Bobos falls and sleep and will not get up."

"Will not get up?" Draco echoed.

"No, Bobos will not get up."

"Is Bobos ill?"

"Dinky not know, sir."

Draco sighed. "Go find someone who will know then, fetch them to the bathroom and tell them what you told me."

"Who should Dinky find?"

Draco hesitated. In all honestly, he hadn't the first idea as to which professor would be an expert about house elves. He first thought of Madam Pomfrey but wasn't sure if she was a Healer of magical creatures as well. He then briefly wondered if Hagrid would, but the idea of the lumbering oaf running around in somewhat privileged areas was rather unpleasant. Draco decided on sending for the only logical choice, even if it turned out that he knew nothing of house elves.

"Find Professor Snape. Tell him Draco Malfoy sent you."

Dinky scurried out of the room. Several minutes later, Snape stepped into the room. He looked at Draco briefly before his gaze shifted to the greenish-grey lump on the cold stone floor. Without a word to Draco, Snape levitated the elf then swept out of the room.


	15. Chapter Thirteen – Deluge

Draco was exhausted. He'd had a long day of classes and a hurried dinner before he was dragged off to carry out his prefect duties later that night. After several hours of traversing the Castle grounds on a seemingly meaningless patrol, Draco staggered back to the dungeons.

The boy wondered what the purpose of the patrols was. It had been some eight weeks since the infernal satyr attack and most of the troublesome and ill elves had been quarantined. Everyone had survived with minimal injuries and there wasn't as much as a peep coming from the Forbidden Forest since then. There was a fine line between being cautious and paranoid.

It was late and most of the students had gone to bed, save a couple of seventh years burning the midnight oil. Draco paid them no heed and promptly descended the stairs that led to his dormitory.

He pulled his school robes off and sat on the edge of his bed, fumbling with the buckles on his boots. Once the buckles were undone, he kicked his boots off and collapsed backwards. He could've slept where he fell if not for the low groaning sound that reverberated around the room and began to crescendo. Draco was tired enough to ignore it but a sense of unease made him sit up.

Looking around the room he tried to determine the source of the sound. In all his years of sleeping in that dorm he had never heard it before. His eyes fell upon the circular glass window, the only window in their dorm. Something huge and gelatinous-like was obscuring the view into the lake. It was the giant squid.

With a loud pop, long spindly tendrils appeared upon the flawless glass. The squid was leaning against the glass with such force that it was beginning to crack.

A part of Draco convinced himself, there was magic preventing the water from flooding the dungeons. The other, which possessed a sense of self-preservation, wasn't so sure and certainly wasn't going to stand around to find out. Grabbing his wand, he cast a shield charm over the glass, hoping that it would buy them some time. He then laid the tip of it on his throat and whispered _"Sonorus"_.

"Get up!" Draco's amplified voice echoed throughout the dungeon. "Everyone get up and get above ground, NOW! Leave everything and go!"

Blaise was up immediately and looked perplexedly at Draco, eyes still fuzzy with sleep. Draco merely pointed to the cracked window, now displaying prominent signs of leaking. The others had sat up by now and looked at Draco in confusion.

"Stop staring at me like idiots and vacate the dungeon! It's being flooded!" Draco said, again his voice rattling the chandeliers. "And I'm talking to _ALL_ of you!"

Goyle, Crabbe and Nott eventually scrambled out of bed when the glass finally gave in. If not for Draco's charm, water would've been pouring into their room. Blaise grabbed his own wand and added a second shield on top of Draco's then twirled his wand again to cast another spell. Instantly everything in their dorm took on a shiny lacquered look.

"Waterproofing charm," Blaise explained briefly. "Let's go."

Draco dispelled the _"Sonorus"_ charm then said, "Make sure the girls are all out. I'm going to check on the lower levels."

Blaise gave him an enigmatic smile before nodding and rushing off towards the girls' dormitory. When Draco stepped into the hallway he was shocked to find water pouring down the stairs. It would indicate that theirs was not the only window that had been compromised. He hoped that the older students would have had the foresight to shield their windows like he and Blaise had.

Hurriedly, Draco headed lower into the dungeons where the seventh and the first years were housed. The seventh year dorms were empty. Pausing only to shield the cracking window, he moved on. He certainly did not need any more water coming in. Draco then headed to where the first years dorms were. When had reached the lowest level, it was already under four feet of water and the water was rising fast. Two terrified looking first years were struggling towards him. Casting two summoning spell in quick succession, Draco successfully sent the two little boys sailing towards him. They clutched at him with white-knuckled grips, trembling in fear and cold.

"Is there anyone else here?"

They shook their heads. 

Draco turned and headed back up the stairs. The water was getting higher – filling up from the bottom as well as pouring down from the stairs above – and the boys were a dead weight on him; if he didn't get them up fast enough, they would probably all drown. Out-running the rising flood was not an option. He had to think of something else, fast. 

He stopped and reached for his wand. "I'm going to put a Bubble Head Charm on you both so you can breathe underwater if the water overtakes us. It'll last an hour, plenty of time for you to get out. You do remember how to get out of the dungeons right?"

They nodded in unison. Not wasting anymore time, he cast the spells and immediately giant goldfish bowls encircled the boys' heads. Knowing they could probably not hear him he simply pointed up the stairs and gave them a shove. They knew well enough to obey him without protest.

Once he was sure they weren't going to drown, Draco thought to put the same charm on himself. Before he had the chance, he felt a strong grip around his left ankle and he was dragged underwater.

Twisting around, he tried to catch a glimpse of his attacker, half expecting the giant squid had pegged him for a late night snack. To his surprise his attacker was humanoid. She had a grey, pasty complexion and her purplish hair was wild. Where her legs should've been, were she a human, there was a long powerful tail with iridescent scales. There was a murderous glint in her eyes as she clawed at Draco.

Draco kicked at her and she released him. Pointing his wand at her, Draco cast an appropriate hex. She swam out of the way with contemptible ease and dived for Draco again. Without the aid of a tail, Draco had no hope of fleeing her. Instead, he transfigured a shoe that floated by into a quarterstaff.

The water made it hard for him to move effectively, but he had managed to land several hits on her and it was enough to hold her off for a moment. With his lungs burning, Draco kicked upwards, desperately seeking out precious air. He broke the surface of the water and had the opportunity to take one gulp of air before his pursuer had accosted him again. This time she brought a friend and Draco lost both his wand and quarterstaff in the struggle. Dizzy from the lack of oxygen and with two mermaids holding him underwater, Draco was certain that the end was nigh.

Just as the last morsel of strength left Draco, he felt the vice grips on him loosen. A flare of bright red light blinded him momentarily and the mermaids fled.

An arm suddenly hooked around his chest and he was once again being pulled against his will. As much as he tried to struggle, he found his strength waning. Fortune favoured him that night, as his last attacker was in fact his rescuer.

Draco's rescuer then shoved a handful of something slimy into his mouth. Too tired and disoriented to protest, he chewed and swallowed it. 

The burning in his lungs blessedly vanished and being underwater did not hurt; in fact it felt like the most natural thing in the world. If he weren't feeling as bad as he did, he might have enjoyed the swim. Draco then realised that the disgusting slime that he had been force-fed was Gillyweed.

He didn't know how long they had been swimming. In his weary state, time had lost all meaning. When they did finally get out of the water, Draco was thankful to be back in his own true element.

Another pair of hands hauled him out of the water by the scruff of his neck. He looked up blearily at the face and was somewhat indignant to find the oaf Hagrid peering back at him.

Draco was about to protest but the oaf had deposited him in front of Taira, who was quite drenched herself. Draco assumed that she and the oaf must have been fishing students out of the dungeon.

"Are you hurt?" Taira asked.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Draco replied, as far as he was concerned, everything hurt.

"If you can make a joke I am going to assume you are fine. Join the others in the Great Hall."

Taira let go of him and Draco felt the compelling power of gravity overwhelm him. Just before he hit the ground in an undignified heap, someone stepped in to hold him up. It was Potter, looking like a drowned rat. Slowly, they made their way towards the hall.

"Potter?"

"That's what some call me."

"Why are you wet?" he asked stupidly.

"In case you haven't noticed, the dungeons are flooded."

"Why were you in the dungeon?"

"I had detention with Snape, remember?" Potter said testily.

"I don't keep track of your social calendar, Potter."

"You should be glad that I had detention," Potter continued, ignoring Draco's scathing remark. "If I hadn't been there'd been no one to save your sorry arse."

"It was you?"

"No, it was the tooth fairy polyjuiced as me."

"You're not good with the sarcasm, Potter, don't try it, you might break something you need later in life."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter groused, "I should've let you drown."

"You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if I weren't around."

Potter opened his mouth to perhaps say 'Shut up, Malfoy' again but the sloshing of water caught their attention. Someone else was emerging from the flooded dungeon.

The tall, lean figure that came out first was undeniable Snape. He and Taira then stooped to drag someone else out. Draco felt this heart drop when he realised that it was Blaise. Stepping out from Potter's support, he staggered back towards where his friend was. Potter followed but Draco didn't really care.

Blaise lay unmoving, and there was a nasty gash on his forehead. Blood was beginning to seep from the wound again, running down the side of his face. Draco didn't want to acknowledge it but it looked like Blaise wasn't breathing. 

Taira and Snape worked frantically around Blaise, attempting to get him to breath again. Whatever spells they were casting, they repeated their actions for a period that spanned an eternity before Blaise coughed violently and expelled the water from his lungs. His eyes fluttered open momentarily before they slid shut again. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicated he was breathing again, though a little shallowly.

Relief washed over Draco as his legs gave way. He slumped against the wall and slid down it.

"I'll get him to Madam Pomfrey," Taira said to Snape. 

"Of course." Snape looked at her with mild concern before asking. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Taira cast a locomotion spell upon Blaise and set off. Hagrid tottered after Taira without a word.

When Taira was out of earshot Snape spun around and took an ominous step towards Potter.

"Potter," he practically snarled. "I warned you before about pilfering from my stores."

Potter squared his shoulders and replied spitefully, "Fine, next time I'll just let your Slytherins drown. One less snake slithering around in the dark."

Snape looked like he was about to breathe fire. His eyes narrowed to tiny slits but it would seem all retorts were lost to him. So instead he did the one thing that seemed like his favourite pastime – taking points from Gryffindor. "Ten points off, Potter. Now go back to your room."

Potter sneered at Snape then turned on his heels and stormed away from the dungeons. Evidently having points taken off by Snape was no longer a big deal to Potter. 

Watching the Gryffindor retreat, Draco noticed for the first time just how wet Potter was. Somewhere along the course of his rescue mission, Potter had shed his school uniform. His oversized tee shirt clung on to him accentuating a nicely defined torso. No doubt Potter had been training hard. He had certainly outgrown the "scrawny" description.

As Draco looked on, even after Potter had turned the corner, he pondered why Potter had risked himself to save Draco. Could Taira have been right – that their relationship had evolved into something more? Or was Potter merely fulfilling his daily hero quota?

Draco allowed himself to wonder if he would have done the same had the roles been reversed. Shockingly, the answer wasn't an immediate _"Loki, NO!"_ even if he wasn't entirely sure it would be a yes. Unlike Potter, Draco just didn't do things out of the goodness of his heart. There had to be a reason, preferably one that benefited him.

Which begged the question – would saving Potter benefit Draco?

"Draco," Snape's voice drew Draco's attention away from Potter. Snape had a look of mild distaste on his face that he couldn't quite hide.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I had heard that Professor Taira had you training with Potter."

"She did."

Snape grunted his disapproval then ushered Draco in the direction of the Great Hall. After a few moments of silent, Snape spoke again. With a voice barely above a whisper he said, "Choose your allegiances carefully, Draco. Be certain that whomever you stand with are the people you know you can depend on."

Draco cast a sidelong glance at Snape, wondering if Snape were one of those whom his father had mentioned would be "watching over" him. It was no secret that Snape and Lucius were ... acquainted.

Caught somewhat off guard, Draco was unsure as to what the appropriate answer Snape was expecting. Thus he opted for ambiguity. Draco first sought to placate his Head of House with a charismatic smile before saying, "Certainly, Professor. You know that I am not likely to be swayed by ideals of nobility and heroics."

Snape nodded curtly but his eyes indicated that he was not entirely reassured by Draco's words. "See that they don't. These are perilous times and even the simplest of choices can change the course of history."

They continued on in silence to the Great Hall. Snape deposited Draco with a cluster of soaked Slytherins and instructed him to wait for Madam Pomfrey.

By the time Pomfrey had checked each and everyone who had taken a late night dip in the dungeon, the Slytherin makeshift beds were set up. It brought back memories of Draco's third year when everyone was forced to camp out in the Hall because a murdering psychotic had apparently snuck into the Castle.

At the first opportunity Draco hunted Pansy down. She was curled up in a sleeping bag at the far end of the hall. Draco was glad she was unhurt but it was evident that something was bothering her.

"Pansy," he said.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she replied immediately, it sounded like she was crying. 

Draco didn't like weeping women; he didn't know how to deal with it. He had never seen or heard of his mother crying; she was far too strong for that kind of silliness. And in all honesty he had assumed that all Slytherin girls were like his mother.

He wanted to run and leave her to her own devices, but that was inappropriate for a leader, and unbecoming as a friend. Thus, he sat down beside her and cautiously laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Why?" he asked.

"It's my fault that Blaise is hurt."

"What? It was you who hit him in the head with your stiletto shoes then tried to drown him?"

In spite of her tears, Pansy snorted in laughter. "It's not funny!" she protested.

"I'm not the one laughing," Draco replied glibly. "Why is it your fault then?"

"He was trying to save me from the merman and he got hurt. I should've helped him instead of running."

"And what would've you have done?"

"I don't know."

"If you can't think of the solution now, when you're out of danger and in a relative calm environment, then the best course of action you could've taken was to run. You did the right thing. Blaise is hurt, yes, but he'll get better."

Pansy sniffed then sat up to face Draco. He conjured a silken handkerchief and handed it to her.

"I should've have done something! You wouldn't have left him."

"If you don't like not being able to help, then do something about it. Crying isn't going to make a difference. Learn to protect yourself better and in doing that you'll learn to protect others."

Pansy's eyes widened, perhaps in surprise that Draco was being rather callous, but that should be nothing new. No, Draco decided that it was because his words had made sense to her. He could see her resolve strengthening in her eyes. Draco knew she had decided then that she was done being a victim. Even as haughty as had she always been, Pansy Parkinson had never been in control of her life, always deferring to her family's wishes and peer pressure. That night, she seized control of own fate, even if it was only in her mind.

"Get some sleep, Pansy," Draco eventually said. "The rest of the school will probably want to have breakfast at an ungodly hour tomorrow and god forbid should anyone else see us in these embarrassing matching flannel pyjamas."

She chuckled then nodded obediently and slid into her sleeping bag again. "Do you know how Blaise is?"

"He's fine. Pomfrey's kept him in the hospital wing so he could get a proper sleep." Draco then paused, thinking. "Say Pansy, will you hit me with your stiletto shoes as well? I want to sleep in the hospital wing in a proper bed too."

"Oh, shut up, Draco," she said playfully. Looking soberly at him, she whispered, "Thank you, Draco Malfoy. We wouldn't be here if not for you."

Draco stared at her wordlessly, wondering about her words. Did she mean warning the house about the impending flood, or did she mean something else as well? He sat and watched her fall asleep before climbing into the fluffy bag next to hers.


	16. Chapter Fourteen – A Serpent In the Tower

It was outrageous.

Draco was not a happy boy, but no amount of protesting had resulted in a change of his current domicile arrangements. God forbid he even pleaded with McGonagall but she would not be swayed. His efforts to intimidate his former dorm mates to trade with him had proven futile – even they were smart enough to not want what Draco had been saddled with.

After the flooding of the dungeons, all Slytherins had been reassigned to board with their fellow classmates of different houses. The whole idea reeked of charity, yet McGonagall had insisted that there were no other suitable premises to house that many students. 

Thus, one by one, through the sheer whim of Lady Luck, the Slytherin student body drew lots to determine which house they were to bunk with until the dungeons were drained and restored.

Year Six Hufflepuff boys' dormitory was large enough to house two more comfortably. Gryffindor Tower could only accommodate one more student thus Ravenclaw was obliged to take on the other two remaining. 

Draco was certain the powers that be had a personal grudge against him when, to his abject horror, he had drawn the only accursed red lot. Goyle and Blaise were to stay with Ravenclaw, while Crabbe and Nott got Hufflepuff.

The injustice of the whole situation was simply outrageous.

"Oh, stop sulking, Draco. It's better than camping out in the Great Hall." Pansy said at dinner later that day. She then gestured over to the Hufflepuff table. "At least you're not with those eager beavers. I swear if they shove that glass half-full outlook in my face again I will broil their intestines in their own juices." 

"I will sulk because it's the only good thing happening for me."

Blaise looked thoughtfully across the table towards Gryffindor. The cut on his forehead had been healed but it was still a little pink. Madam Pomfrey had seen fit to keep him at the hospital wing for only one night. "Think of it this way, Draco. You are given the rare opportunity to observe Potter in his natural habitat and glean any secrets that the Gryffindor Tower holds."

"What do you think I'm doing? Making a wildlife documentary?" Draco stabbed at his roast beef savagely. "I couldn't care less. Not only do I have to share with Potter, I have to share with the rest of his plebeian lackeys! Half-bloods, Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers."

Blaise snorted. "Trust you to focus on the whole purity issue. We're all staying with so-called half bloods, Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers. You don't hear us whining about it."

"That's because Draco's doing it the loudest, he's drowning us out," Pansy added glibly.

"And henceforth you shall both be called Brutus," Draco groused.

"Won't that be a little confusing?" Blaise asked. "How do we know which one of us you're referring too?"

Pansy giggled then said, "It's not going to kill you, Draco. Bunking with the enemy will help build your character."

"Not if I wake up with a dagger in my back. And besides, my character is well built enough, thank you very much!"

"They're Gryffindors; they're not going to stab you in your sleep. If they wanted to, they'd ask if you mind first." Blaise scoffed. "Look, just suck it up, for heaven's sake. We all have to do this – ALL of us. And you do realise that you're not the only Slytherin in Gryffindor Tower."

"No, but I'm the one bunking with Harry bloody Potter."

"Heh, I'm sure you're the envy of girls all over school." Blaise smirked.

"Gross, Zabini." Draco shot him a pointed look.

"Oh great, here comes the Barbie twins," Pansy suddenly groaned.

Draco looked up to see Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones approach their table. Bones had a mild look of distaste upon her face as she swept her gaze across the Slytherin table. Draco had heard that her family had suffered loss under the tender care of Death Eaters.

Abbott looked at Pansy, Nott and Crabbe then said loudly, "Those of you staying with us, come now. We'll show you the way."

"Just because you have decided to skip pudding, doesn't mean we all want to, Abbott," Pansy retorted. Several Slytherin heads nodded.

"So you're not coming?"

"We are, just not right now," Pansy stated resolutely.

"We haven't got time to stand and wait for you to finish eating," Bones snapped.

Pansy smiled sweetly. "Then by all means, take a seat. Preferably back at your own table."

"Look, Professor Sprout said we have to escort you and give you your passwords," Abbott repeated.

"Yes, Abbott, we heard you the first time," Pansy said. "If you are so intent on running back to your common room, don't let us stand in your way. I'm certain there are other eager Hufflepuffs that can lead the way."

"Only the prefects know your special passwords."

"And you're saying you're the only prefect in Hufflepuff?" Pansy arched an eyebrow. "You do realise the longer you stand her arguing with me, the longer it'll take me to finish my pudding."

Abbott sighed then said "Ten minutes," before turning around and stalking back to her table, Bones hot on her heels.

Draco studied Pansy for a moment before asking, "What was that all about? You don't even like rhubarb and custard."

"It's the principle, Draco. I will not have them order me around, or have them think that they are bending over to do us some huge favour. Just because we have lost our dormitory does not mean we have lost our pride or our self-reliance."

Draco smiled at her. Though often conceited and a somewhat naïve, Pansy have had her moments of profound insights.

"Aw, our little girl is all grown up," Blaise said with melodrama.

"Shut up, Zabini," she said, kicking him in the shin. She picked up her spoon and made a show of eating her pudding while not really eating it at all. Precisely twelve minutes later, she rose from her seat, and all the Slytherins that were staying in the Hufflepuff dorms made a move to follow her.

Draco chuckled, watching them depart the hall enveloped in an air of dignity. Moments later, Blaise led those bunking with Ravenclaw away leaving Draco with the ones unfortunately enough to have to stay with Gryffindor. 

For the first time in his life, he prayed; prayed to whatever deity who would listen for the restoration of the dungeons to take place quickly.

~*~

"You must be joking," Draco exclaimed.

Weasley's superior smile was plain sickening. "Nope," he said far too enthusiastically for Draco's liking.

"You _must_ be joking."

"Not very bright is he, Harry?" Weasley cackled.

"I'm not sleeping by a draughty window on a flipping camp bed when the rest of you are in four-poster beds," Draco said resolutely. 

In all honestly it wasn't a camp bed at all, granted it wasn't a four-poster bed nor was it quite as large as the others, but it was, nevertheless, furnished with a plush mattress, ample pillows and a large eiderdown duvet. Notwithstanding, Draco Malfoy wasn't going to settle for second-best.

The redhead continued smirking. "Then you won't be sleeping. See if we care."

"Even the most dim-witted fool can see that there isn't enough room for another four-poster bed, Malfoy," Potter said.

"Well, you peasants can sleep on camp beds. You should be used to it. I will have a four-poster, then there'll be plenty of room." Draco looked around in disdain. The Slytherin rooms were far more spacious than the confounded Tower. The Gryffindors were practically living in each other's back pockets. "Don't you find it a bit claustrophobic with five of you in here? Unless of course that's just the way you like it?" Draco leered.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter snapped, "You are our ... guest; I suggest you mind your manners."

"Or what? You'll hex me? I'd like to see you get out of this one – a lone Slytherin being attacked when staying in the Tower with five Gryffrindors."

"Yeah, and we all know Slytherins aren't capable of deceit and subterfuge. Just shut up, Malfoy. No one wants to hear you whining. Sleep or don't sleep, we don't care, just as long as you aren't making any noise."

"I'd like to see you stop me from – "

"Silencio!"

"Accio wand!"

Weasley had silenced him at the same moment that Potter had summoned his wand from his pocket. Draco glowered at them in fury but unable to utter a single sound. He took an ominous step towards Potter.

"Careful now, Malfoy," Weasley grinned, wand still pointing at Draco.

Draco crossed his arms and stared defiantly at him.

"Listen!" Weasley said.

"What?" Potter replied in a hushed tone, "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly!" He grinned broadly then headed out of the dorm, "I'll let the others know that the snake has stopped hissing."

Potter nodded then sat down on the foot of his bed to undo the lace on his ghastly trainers. "Are you going to even try to co-exist peacefully?"

Draco sniffed haughtily. He didn't see why he should if they were the ones ganging up on him.

"Look, I know you didn't ask for this, neither did we. But we have to because you have gone and flooded your stupid dungeon."

Unable to give a verbal retort, Draco marched over to Potter then promptly threw a punch at him. How dare Potter accuse him of being responsible for that?

"Hey!" Potter cried ducking in time to avoid impact.

Draco grasped the front of Potter robes and mouthed each word slowly, "Return my wand!"

"SAY please," Potter smirked.

What followed was a lot of pushing and shoving until Draco tripped over a trunk and toppled backwards, taking Potter along with him. Voices could be heard from just beyond the door and Draco knew that the rest of the Gryffindor boys were returning to their dormitory.

As Potter was being childish, Draco decided that he would teach the other boy a lesson for trifling with him. He would take that perfect opportunity to embarrass the Gryffindor in front of his peers. Sacrifices must be made in order to win the battle, thus Draco seized Potter's neck and plunged a salacious kiss upon the other boy's mouth, tongue and all, just as the door swung open.

Only the blind could've missed that.

The shocked silence that crashed into the dormitory was deafening. Potter scrambled to his feet, red in embarrassment and fury while Draco laughed soundlessly, his eyes burning with vindictive satisfaction. Without further word, Potter fled the room. Draco rose gracefully, haughtily ignored the others and sat down on his own camp bed to remove his boots.

"Please tell me I didn't see what I just saw," Weasley said then wheeled around to face Draco. "This is your fault! What were you doing?"

"I think we all saw what they were doing," Thomas said in a bemused tone.

"Not funny, Dean." Weasley snapped then turned and headed out of the room, presumably after Potter.

The other Gryffindors looked at each other, looked at Draco then shrugged and busied themselves preparing for bed. They spoke in soft whispers, as if not wanting Draco to hear their conversation. Draco rolled his eyes wondering if they realised that in a room as small as theirs, there would be no secrets. At least Draco was thankful they did not try to engage him in any kind of interaction – amicable or hostile. If they could pretend he was not there, then he could pretend that he was somewhere else, too.

With a glowing satisfaction that he had suitably embarrassed Potter in front of his peers, Draco went to bed a little less vexed. He didn't even mind so much not being able to speak for the night. It was a small price to pay for revenge.

~*~

The morning began like any other morning in the last few weeks. Draco had learned to rise early, fleeing the dreaded Gryffindor Tower as soon as he could. He, Blaize and Pansy would meet up for breakfast when most were just dragging themselves out of bed.

It was a pleasant change from having to sit in a hall of hundreds of noisy children. It also meant that the servings were fresh off the hob and that they did not need to contend with the others for their share of the meal. The trio usually left the Great Hall for their classes as the bulk of the school entered it.

They were idly chatting, seated at their usual table in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, when the door banged open and a blur of black and red came flying at Draco. Before Draco had the chance to move out of the way, strong hands gripped the front of his robes and slammed him against the table.

"You are despicable!" Potter growled at him. "Are you just naturally greedy or do you just loathe the idea of me having anything?"

"This is silk, philistine, you're crinkling it," Draco snarled back, his fingers trying to pry Potter's away from his robes.

"You spoilt, arrogant brat!" Potter shouted and slammed Draco against the table again.

Not bothering with another verbal reply Draco cast a Banishing Charm on Potter instead. Potter was forcibly thrown back against another the table and stumbled to the floor. Draco prepared to cast another hex but Granger was faster.

Draco's wand was suddenly torn out of his hand; Granger must have cast a Disarming Charm. A third spell sailed through the air, originating from Pansy's wand but Potter had already anticipated an attack. He moved between Pansy and Granger and cast a Shield Charm. Pansy's jinx ricocheted off the shield and into a window, shattering the glass.

By that time, Draco had retrieved his wand and aimed another spell at Granger. She ducked and rolled out of the way, the hex shattering a stool instead. 

Multi-coloured arcs of hexes and jinxes flew around the classroom, breaking random objects. 

"Enough!" An authoritative voice sliced through the tension. Taira stood on the balcony before her office door glowering at them. She descended the stairs and swept towards them. They had seemingly frozen in place; Taira had immobilised them with her fury.

Taira gave them all a sweeping glance before ordering them back to their seats. They hurriedly obeyed her. Draco then realised that they had an audience clustered by the door, apparently wise enough not to enter the room.

Once everyone had taken his or her seat, Taira began her lesson. The topic of her lecture was rather unexpected.

"While I do not condone fighting in my classroom, I cannot deny that Messers' Potter and Malfoy, and Misses' Parkinson and Granger have provided a practical exhibition of duelling. Shall we examine their strengths and weaknesses?"

All faces gaped at Taira in utter incomprehension. 

"Make no mistake that the four of them will be punished for their transgression," Taira continued. "Nevertheless, we should never waste any opportunities that come our way. Mister Zabini, you were in the room, give us your evaluation."

Blaise did not hesitate to give his thoughts of what he had witnessed. It was rather objective and detached, which made Draco wonder why Blaise hadn't helped him and Pansy when Potter had attacked.

Which then begged the question as to what Draco had allegedly done to be accused of being despicable, greedy and spoilt? Not that he hadn't sported any one of those qualities at some point in his life, but that was not the point. It was unlikely that it was a sudden revelation on Potter's part that prompted him to attack. Undoubtedly, something had happened to get Potter's knickers in a twist.

Draco scarcely paid attention to the analysis that the other students were heartily giving. Clearly, they found it quite enjoyable to criticise Draco and Pansy. According to them, Potter and Granger were the epitome of duellers. 

When the lesson had drawn to a close, Taira had summoned the four of them to return to her classroom at lunchtime.

Draco was in a foul mood for the rest of the morning. Having been on the receiving end of one of Taira's punishments, he did not doubt that she could be very creative aboutthem. If she didn't have him scrubbing out the Owlery without using magic, Draco would be thankful.

When lunchtime rolled around, the four of them gathered at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Taira wasted no time in delivering detention and what they were to do. Naturally, it was some manner of labour-intensive task.

Pansy and Granger were sent to the Professor Sprout to clean out all the greenhouses. Potter had to aid Professor Snape in harvesting the lunar slugs that were due to mature at the full moon in a few weeks' time. Draco had the unpleasant task of chopping firewood, a task usually performed by the oaf Hagrid.

Taira dismissed everyone else except for Draco. Draco wondered what else was in store for him. Surely she would not reprimand him further, especially since he did not perpetrate the crime?

She looked at him steadily but did not say anything for a while. Eventually she said, "Mister Potter received some rather … unpleasant news this morning. He jumped to the conclusion that you were involved in it. It was not unreasonable for him to think so as it was your mother who was the perpetrator of the event."

"My mother?" Draco asked, surprised. "What did she do?"

"She made a formal claim on the entire Black fortune, which naturally includes the Black ancestral home."

Draco blinked mutely for a moment then said softly, almost to himself. "I didn't think she was serious; but why? It's not like we need the wealth."

Taira inclined her head. "That, you will have to ask your mother."

"Is that why Potter flew off the handle?" Draco snorted. "He thinks I want that dilapidated townhouse that his godfather left him? I have better broom closets to inherit!"

Taira said nothing to confirm or deny Potter's impetus. Draco turned away from her gaze, his mind whirring. He wondered what his mother was aiming to accomplish by getting the Black assets and why Potter thought he was the one responsible for that claim.

"You may go," Taira eventually said after a few moments.

Draco nodded then rose and headed to his next lesson.

~*~

The moment Draco had the chance he had sent an owl to his mother, telling her that he would be contacting her later. Even if he could do nothing to influence her, he at least wanted to know the reason behind getting abused by Potter.

Returning to his temporary abode in the Gryffindor Tower, Draco made a pit stop at one of the many prefect's bathroom littered around the castle. Sharing a dormitory with the philanthropic lions was bad enough; he did not need to share their baths as well.

As he entered, he found that he was not alone. The person hunched over the far sink had a mop of flaming red hair and Draco knew that it could only be Weasley.

"Loki curse my timing," he muttered, "You're not going to be sick are you, Weasel? I really don't need to be disgusted."

Surprisingly, Weasley did not retort. Draco was prepared to hurl another disparaging remark at him when Weasley suddenly crumpled onto the floor, cracking his head loudly on the basin.

"Weasley?" Draco asked. When he got no reply, he briefly contemplated on leaving the annoying Gryffindor to be discovered by some altruistic soul. However, Draco knew the kind of grief he would get if Potter knew he had wilfully abandoned Weasley. Moreover the spate of illness that had run rampant among the students could mean that Weasley was really sick. 

Draco cursed the Gryffindors; bunking with them had certainly tainted his Slytherin sensibilities.

He approached and nudged Weasley with his boot. The unconscious boy did not stir. Weasley looked rather flushed and was very likely ill; Draco hoped it wasn't contagious.

Reaching for his wand, Draco conjured a stretcher, levitated Weasley onto it and then made his way to the hospital wing. On his way there, Draco wondered how many Slytherin purists were now spinning in their graves.

Once Draco had deposited Weasley in the hospital wing with no more than "I found him like that" as an explanation to Madam Pomfrey, Draco left and then spent the evening in the unused room in the east wing he had found many months ago.

His mother would have received his owl by now. After lighting the fireplace and conjuring several comfortable cushions, Draco drew out a large gem, the size of this palm, from his pocket. The gem was beautifully cut with many facets. Each surface reflected Draco's image in a rich emerald hue. Within the heart of the gem, a tiny flame flickered.

Draco peered at the gem, admiring how perfectly cut it was. When moved into the firelight, the core of the gem seemed to flare. Then in a soft voice, he said, "Loquitum."

Delicate emerald filaments arced from every facet, twirling and dancing into the air, eventually coalescing into an apparition of a familiar visage bathed in green light.

"Good evening, Mother," Draco said with a charming smile.

"Good evening, Draco," she replied, giving him a thorough visual examination. "Are you eating at all? You're all skin and bones."

"I'm eating fine, Mother." He waved her off dismissively. "I didn't ask for your audience to discuss my diet."

Narcissa laughed. It was a rare genuine laughter, which Draco rarely heard these days. It almost seemed like she had stopped laughing since his age had hit double figures. "No, I suppose not. You are far too busy breaking hearts to be talking to me about such trivial matters."

"Breaking hearts?" Draco raised an eyebrow curiously. "What sordid tales have you heard?"

"Oh, the usual drivel, but with an intriguing twist."

Draco would bet his entire inheritance on what that twist might be. He knew that his orientation would be made public soon enough. "And?"

"And, what?"

"And what you do make of it?"

Narcissa smiled again; it was genuine and, if Draco dare say, even motherly. "Perchance you're looking for my approval? You know you have it, love. You don't have to prove yourself to me. Whatever you may choose in life, just be honourable enough to bear the consequences of those choices. Notwithstanding, you must also remember that there are certain familial obligations that you might be made to fulfil regardless of your choices."

Draco nodded, filing away that piece of advice for future contemplation. He had established this communiqué with his mother for a specific reason. 

Without further deliberation he said. "Rumour has it you have made an official claim to the Black fortune, Mother."

"For once, the rumours are not wrong."

"May I ask why?"

Narcissa studied Draco for a moment before asking. "Why do you suppose?"

"Certainly, wealth is not the primary motivation," Draco began, "We have more money than we know what to do with. Prestige? Similarly, the Malfoy name is equal if not surpasses that of the Black's. Nostalgia? I did not imagine you to be so sentimental towards your maiden house."

Narcissa smiled. "You are correct on all accounts. I did not make a bid for the Black fortune for those reasons. It's far simpler than that."

Draco waited patiently for his mother to continue.

"The most ancient and noble house of Black is a one of the few remaining pureblood families in Britain. As one of the last surviving members of the Black family I have an obligation to not allow its fortune to fall into Mudblood hands."

Draco hid his surprise, so this WAS about not wanting Potter to have the Black fortune. "Is that not far too trivial to be wasting our time and resources on?"

"It's a matter of pride, Draco."

"And what would you do with the dilapidated townhouse when you do acquire it?"

Narcissa shrugged nonchalantly. "The estate will eventually come to you. Is there something in particular you would have done to it?"

Draco had almost said "give it to Harry Potter" but he held his tongue. Frowning, he began formulating a convincing reason as to why Narcissa should give up on her acquisition bid. "Nothing, Mother, I would rather not have that grim old place in our possession.

"The last son of the house of Black did nothing to uphold the reputation of the family name. I love you, Mother, but the house of Black is no more, and judging by the direction it was heading I would have thought it would be best for it to die.

"If this is a matter of purity and pride, I say let the Mudblood- and Muggle-lovers wallow in the filth that Sirius Black has created."

Narcissa's expression was a mix of surprise and realisation. She pursed her lips and gritted her teeth, indications that she was deep in thought. Draco waited patiently for her response. The fact that she did not immediately dismiss his opinion was an encouraging sign. Draco felt he might stand a good chance on dissuading her from taking Grimmauld Place from Potter.

"You make a fair point, love." Narcissa nodded. "The ancestral home has been tainted; it would serve us no benefit to claim it. There are other assets and heirlooms that should only be in the hand of a pureblood."

"Indeed," Draco smirked. Draco knew that his mother desired those heirlooms only to salvage her pride. Narcissa Malfoy was not one to back down from a fight without getting something out of it. "I do recall that Grand-aunt Regina had a stunning ruby necklace; I believe it would look magnificent on you, Mother. I dread to think of Potter stringing that priceless piece around that Mudblood Granger's neck."

"You need not worry about that, love. I will see to it that it won't happen. Is there anything else you wish to speak to me about?"

"No, Mother, that is all."

Narcissa smiled again, this time somewhat wistfully. "Do take care of yourself, Draco. Good night."

"You too, Mother. Good night." Draco paused momentarily before whispering "Finite." The crystalline figure of his mother began unravelling and slowly melted back into the gem. The core of the gem dimmed, only flickering slightly like it had been before. 

He closed his fingers around the gem; it felt warm. Draco sat clutching the gem, thinking about what he had just done, done for Potter's sake. This was perhaps the first altruistic deed he had done in his entire life. He could not comprehend his impetus or his sudden spell of selflessness.

Strangely, he didn't regret it; he was merely confused and a little scared that he might do something this stupid again. Once again he blamed it on the Gryffindors. Goodness must be infectious. Before long he would be sitting around a campfire with them singing "Kumbaya, My Lord".

Shuddering at the thought, Draco pocketed his Loquitor Gem and reluctantly dragged himself back to the proverbial campfire. It was late, perhaps past twelve, when Draco got back to the Gryffindor tower.

The torches in the common room had been extinguished and remnants of the fire were guttering softly. Even in the semi darkness, Draco spotted someone curled up in an armchair by the fire. It was Potter. With his face shrouded in shadow, Draco couldn't tell if he was asleep or not.

"Malfoy," Potter said.

Not, then, Draco thought tersely. "What, Potter?"

"Thank you for helping Ron."

"Whatever," Draco muttered, continuing his way up to the dormitory.

Potter moved to stand in Draco's way. "I'm trying to thank you; can't you even be gracious about it?"

"I know what you're doing, Potter, I'm not thick. Besides I don't need your thanks. I'd rather have an apology."

Sighing, Potter asked, "Why must you make every one of our conversations so difficult?"

"Maybe because I don't like talking to you?" Draco scowled.

"I'm sorry, then. Taira said you didn't know about Grimmauld Place."

"My, my, aren't we charitable tonight?" Draco mocked. "Don't give my any false apologies. Spare me your pity."

"Damn it, Malfoy! You're not perfect either! So, I made a mistake this morning. Like you've never jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"I never claimed that I was perfect," Draco replied coldly. "I'm just not very forgiving."

"I don't need this," Potter growled and turned his back on Draco.

"Nor do I," Draco sniffed haughtily. 

He continued to ascend the stairs as Potter moved to stand before the fireplace again. Something stopped Draco mid step. He turned to look at Potter's form silhouetted against the glowing ambers. Potter's shoulders were hunched, his head bowed. He laid a hand on the mantelpiece, leaning against it, as if it were the only thing that was keeping him up. The waning embers cast an eerie orange glow over Potter's face, highlighting his statuesque profile.

Draco didn't know how long they both stood in silence. Eventually Draco asked how Weasley was, even though he did not know what had prompted him to do so.

"Like the others," Potter replied with a mild shrug of defeat. "He's woken up though."

Not really knowing how to respond to that, Draco carried on ascending.

"Malfoy." Potter turned and looked at him. "I mean it, thank you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Great Freya, Potter! You're more emotional than a menopausal woman. I heard you the first time," with that he continued on and didn't stop that time.


	17. Chapter Fifteen – Questions and Answers

Draco was rudely awakened by someone shaking him rather rigorously.

"Malfoy, get up. Your girlfriend is making a scene at the portrait hole," came the furious whisper.

Draco heard the voice, but it took a few moments before he processed the words. The only girl that could marginally qualify being his girlfriend was Pansy. Draco wondered why Pansy was looking for him at the Gryffindor Tower at this ungodly hour of the night.

"Malfoy!"

"I heard you the first time, Granger," Draco groused as he pulled himself out of bed and shrugged his dressing gown on. "And for the record, you wake me up like that again, you better hope you can fly."

"Whatever, Malfoy," Granger muttered and left the boys' dormitory. 

Draco didn't like the fact that Granger wandered in and out of there like she owned the place. However, seeing how the Gryffindors didn't seem to mind, Draco guessed that Granger must've been doing it for years.

"Draco!" Pansy cried and leapt into his arms the moment the portrait swung open. "It's terrible!"

Startled by the sudden show of emotion, perhaps even affection, Draco patted her head hesitantly then gently extracted her. "What is?" he asked.

"Blaise."

"Yes, I know he's terrible and a scoundrel to boot; what else is new?"

"Now is not the time to joke!" Pansy snapped as she stepped away from him.

"Oh, and I suppose hysterics is appropriate?" Draco asked wryly. "Stop blubbering and tell me what happened."

"Blaise has been taken to the hospital wing!" Pansy shouted.

The words hit Draco like a lead cauldron. A strange sensation squirmed in his belly, one that he couldn't quite identify.

Brushing it aside, he thanked Pansy for letting him know. He then surprised Pansy, and himself, when he reached out to take her hand. Draco started towards the hospital wing. Even though Draco was well aware that he could do nothing to help Blaise, he still felt the urge to be there.

When he arrived, Draco was surprised to see so many beds occupied. When he had brought Weasley in a third of the beds had been filled; now only two were empty. As he moved to step over the threshold, a figure slinked out of the shadows to intercept him. 

"You should not be here," Taira said.

"I just heard Blaise was brought in," Draco replied.

"Indeed, Mister Zabini was admitted tonight. However, he is currently asleep thus your visit would be in vain." Taira said, without moving from the doorway. "Return to your rooms, I will bring you news if there has been a change in his condition."

"Is he very sick?"

"No more than the others," Taira replied evasively.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "There's something seriously wrong here," he said in a hushed voice. "What are you trying to protect us from?"

"As your teacher and mentor, it is my duty to keep you safe from all possible harm, Mister Malfoy. Will you defer to my wisdom or will you insist on being belligerent?"

Opening his mouth to protest, Draco thought better of it. Getting information from Taira required coercion and guile, not brute force. 

"With all due respect, Professor," Pansy spoke up instead, "Haven't you been teaching us how to protect ourselves all year? But how are we to do so when we aren't told that we are in danger or what that danger is?"

Taira eyed Pansy speculatively. A small smile quirked her lips then vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Well said, Miss Parkinson. I cannot dispute that; however, I am not able give you any more information than what you can see for yourself." She gestured vaguely into the hospital wing.

"Will you tell us anything if you do find out?" Pansy challenged.

"If it has any bearing on aiding you in defending yourself, most certainly," Taira replied promptly. Draco thought Taira's answer left a lot of wriggle room, though he expected no less of her. 

Taira continued, "lt's late. You should return to your rooms. Good night."

With that, Taira headed back into the hospital wing closing the door behind her. Once she was out of earshot Draco turned to Pansy. "I didn't think you had it in you to challenge Taira."

Pansy shrugged. "Neither did I. I guess you learn something new everyday."

Draco smiled then offered his arm. "I'm proud of you, Parkinson. There may be hope for you yet."

"Someone taught me that learning to fight for myself was the first step to fighting for others," she said as she threaded her arm through his.

~*~

At breakfast, the Slytherin table looked dismally empty. Draco had neglected to note until someone close to him fell that a large number of those lying in the hospital wing were from his house. 

Was this a deliberate attack on them?

Yet even as he thought that, Weasley's absence was a reminder that Slytherins weren't the only victims.

The mood in the Great Hall was subdued, touched with a hint of fear. The empty seats at the head table were no reassurance to the student body either.

Pansy had told Draco a few days earlier that Professor Vector had taken a sudden leave of absence. Some believed that she had been squirreled away in a private room in the hospital wing; others said she was in St. Mungos. Whatever the discrepancies of the various rumours, they all had one thing in common – she was the first teacher to have fallen sick.

Shortly after that, Draco noticed that Professor Sprout's chair had remained empty, as was Professor Dumbledore's. While the other Professors were scarcely seen during meal times, their presence in their classes was at least reassuring to the students.

Feeling his appetite wane, Draco pushed his breakfast aside. He made a move to rise when a flurry of wings swooped down towards the tables. Many of the students seemed to have taken a subscription of a journal or magazine of sorts. Draco honestly wouldn't believe a word any of them said. However, in the absence of any real information, even unfounded rumours seem to make people feel more in control.

Almost immediately the low hum of conversation crescendoed to an excited buzz. The publications obviously had printed some shocking sensational revelation. Since the Ministry had acknowledged that there had been more casualties, and death, to this mysterious illness, conspiracy theories had been aplenty. They ranged from the typical Death Eater attacks to absurd Muggle retaliations to ancient Celtic curses.

What the Ministry had neglected to say was that the illness had turned into an epidemic, which not only affected the magical community but the magical creatures as well. 

Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, being the areas with the highest concentration of magical entities, were a hotbed for infection. Yet strangely, there was not a single peep about the satyrs and merpeople rampages or the fact that the population of active working house elves had been halved, much less that nearly ten percent of students were ill.

Draco knew Taira knew the truth and he had to find a way to get it out of her.

Draco entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom later that evening; it was empty and dark, but Taira's office door was ajar and a flickering light could be seen behind it. As he approached the steps, he could hear voices from within. Not wanting to interrupt, Draco was about to leave when he recognised one of the voices to be Potter's. Curious, Draco ducked into the shadows to eavesdrop.

"…you be sure?" Potter said. "He could be poisoning all of them!"

"Yes, and I'm helping him," Taira replied sarcastically. Draco had never heard her speak so informally with a student before.

"It's not funny," Potter snapped.

"I wasn't aiming for funny," she said wryly. "You're frustrated and I understand, but have you noticed that the majority of those ill are Slytherin? You're getting paranoid."

"Me? Paranoid? I wonder why? How about a lot of people have been trying to kill me and my friends for the last five years?"

Taira sighed. Silence fell between them for a moment before Potter said, "You know something, don't you?"

"I know a lot of things."

"You know who's behind this, don't you?" Potter was beginning to get excited. "It's not natural, is it? Someone is trying to kill off purebloods, right? If it was purebloods that are being attacked, then it can't be Voldemort or the Death Eaters, can it?"

"Maybe, unlikely, possibly and definitely not."

"Why are you being so complacent?"

"Harry, stop." Draco heard the scraping of a chair against stone. Taira must've risen from her seat. She continued, "Whatever this is, it's not up to you to fight. Whatever this is, let someone else worry about it for a change. Don't you have enough on your plate?"

"How can I not worry when my best friend is ill? Maybe even dying."

"You cannot fight every evil that comes your way. Sometimes you just have to depend on others to pull their weight. Don't take every crisis that needs solving to be your destiny. Otherwise you'd be a very busy guy."

"I --"

"Enough," Taira interrupted firmly. "You've been running yourself ragged for no reason. This is not your problem, okay? If you can help in any way, shape or form, I'll let you know. Go get some rest, Harry. You're driving me crazy."

"Fine," Potter replied begrudgingly.

Draco took that as his cue to find a better hiding spot. He retreated and tucked himself behind Taira's desk. He felt that he had found out more eavesdropping than he would've had if he had asked Taira herself.

Evidently, Potter and Draco had drawn similar conclusions – someone was trying to destroy the magical community.

"It's rather un-gentlemanly to eavesdrop," Taira's voice materialised above Draco, making him jump. It almost felt like she had Apparated, minus the trademark pop, next to him.

"How did you know I was here?" Draco asked, in spite of himself, as he unfurled.

"Did you think I'd leave my rooms unguarded?" she replied with a small smirk.

Draco looked around, then asked, "Where did I trip the spell then?"

Taira chuckled. "Now that would be telling. What can I do for you, Mister Malfoy?"

"Pretty much what Potter was after – answers," Draco replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"And what would you do with these answers, assuming I have them to give?" 

Draco hesitated. Indeed, what was he going to do? He doubted that in knowing he could do anything to help Blaise. That was the main reason he wanted to know, wasn't it, to help Blaise? Certainly. Nevertheless, if their matron and potion master could find no remedy, what could an underage wizard like him achieve?

"Are you saying that ignorance is bliss?" Draco demanded instead.

"I merely asked a question," Taira replied with a shrug. "Whether you believe ignorance is bliss or not is up to you."

Draco frowned, instead of answering he asked, "Is Potter right? Is someone going after the purebloods?"

"As I told Mister Potter, I don't have the answer."

"But you will find it?"

"God willing. Is there anything else, Mister Malfoy?"

"Yes," Draco replied. "Why me?" He hadn't planned on asking that but he felt that this was a good opportunity to understand his mentor's motives.

"You are going to have to be more specific, Mister Malfoy."

"Why did you make me your protégé? You can't be lacking candidates."

Taira perched on one of the desks, then asked, "I think the more important question is why did you subject yourself to my mentoring? I am a teacher after all, what good am I if I do not encourage and guide my students to be the best they can be?"

"So why have you not offered your extra-curricular tutelage to all?" Draco persisted.

"Did the house elves put something in the dinner tonight to make you students more inquisitive than usual?"

"Maybe," Draco gave her half a shrug, "They aren't up to their usual standards these days. Shame they didn't put something in to make the professors more forthcoming."

Taira chuckled. "Oh, touché!"

Draco smirked. "Am I wasting my time here, Professor? Will I get any answers?"

"You have answers, just not the ones you were expecting."

"So I am wasting my time."

"Life is never what you expect, Mister Malfoy. We just have to make do with what we are given." Taira turned and ascended the steps to her office. She paused at her door and said, "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. Your tenacity is one of the qualities that made me choose you over you peers. Remember that."

~*~

When Draco returned to the Gryffindor dormitory, only Potter was present, sitting on his bed drinking a bottle of butterbeer. Draco wondered how Potter had snuck that in and if he did sneak it in, why hadn't he chosen something with a kick.

Potter looked up and gave Draco a cursory nod.

Draco was torn between leaving to spend the evening somewhere less uncomfortable or staying so he could attempt to glean some information from Potter. Although, Draco did doubt Potter would be willing share anything with him, he was not about to admit that he was craving some sort of company.

Nevertheless, his pride won and Draco turned to leave just as Potter said. "There's another bottle under Ron's bed."

Perhaps Potter needed company too.

"That's very generous of you." Draco smirked. "Are you feeling well?"

"Oh shut it, Malfoy. Get lost then if you don't want it."

"No need to be crass, Potter. I was merely saying." Draco summoned the bottle from under the bed.

"You never just say anything," Potter snorted. "It's always some snarky comment with you. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

Grinning, Draco replied, "Only to those who don't understand the beauty of its subtlety." He then opened the bottle and took a swig. "This is not butterbeer," he continued.

It was Potter's turn to smirk. "Ten points for observation."

"What is it?" Draco took another experimental sip. The taste was not unpleasant but it certainly had a kick. "It's not going to make me blind, it is?"

"We're not sure." Potter shrugged, looking at the bottle.

"Not sure? Not sure what it is or not sure that it won't make me blind?"

Potter laughed. "Both. But we've had a few of these and we're not blind."

"Yet," Draco huffed. "How did you get it?"

"We sort of made it. When Ron turned seventeen we wanted to have something stronger to celebrate but of course they wouldn't serve me anything stronger so we bought some butterbeer and decided to try transfiguring it." Potter smiled. "It worked so we made more."

"This is a Potty-Weasel creation?" Draco exclaimed in horror. "I _AM_ going to go blind!"

"Sod off, Malfoy. If you don't want it give it back, more for me."

"Nonsense, I'm not about to deprive myself of a good drink." Draco drew his wand and thought for a moment before transfiguring the contents of his own bottle. He took an experimental sip then nodded in satisfaction. "Now, this is a drink. Not that swill you made."

"I'll be the judge of that." Potter leapt off his bed, then reached over to Draco to snatch the bottle out of Draco's hand. He took a swig then screwed up his face. "Yuck! What is this?"

"It's the closest approximation of the finest 1836 Chateau La Verrier Cognac, you philistine." Draco snatched the bottle back. "I wouldn't expect a plebeian like you to enjoy its exquisite taste."

Potter laughed then took a seat next to Draco. "Wow, could this be the first time we're not fighting for the same thing?"

"Save for the golden Snitch, since when did we ever fight for the same thing?"

"True." Potter nodded.

"So, we still want different things, you hate me, I hate you, I'd say everything is right on course."

"Heh, yeah. The more things change the more they stay the same, eh?"

Draco nodded and resumed drinking, as did Potter. The boys said nothing else; they merely kept sipping at their bottles. The scene reminded Draco of the time when he and Blaise had shared another bottle of fine brandy. That was when Draco realised that he had a real friend.

"God, how do you do it?" Draco suddenly asked.

"Do what?" Potter replied with an eerily calm detachment as he picked on the butterbeer label. Perhaps it was insobriety that made Potter sound a little distant.

Draco did not immediately answer, instead he continued to stare out of the window next to his bed. He appreciated the beauty of the nightscape from Gryffindor Tower – the crescent moon cast just enough light to colour the Forbidden Forest silver. The best thing he could see out of his own dormitory window was murky water and the giant squid.

Running his fingers through his hair, Draco sighed. "Have genuine friends – people that mean something to you, people whom you actually appreciate for who they are and not what you can get out of them."

"What are you on about?" Potter looked up briefly at Draco.

"Blaise."

"Blaise?" Potter echoed.

"And Weasley."

"Malfoy, you're blubbering. Are you drunk already?"

"I am not," Draco huffed indignantly.

"Then start making sense."

Draco scowled at Potter, irritated by his inexplicable aloof attitude when each of their best friends were lying in the hospital wing. In a patented burst of temper, Draco snapped, "How can you cope with all the worrying about a friend? It's driving me crazy! And there's nothing I can do about it!"

For a brief moment, Potter continued to pick on the label and Draco was tempted to throw something at him. Slowly, his shoulders raised a fraction. "You just do. It's a risk, granted. You can't protect everyone and eventually someone will get hurt or die."

"Die?"

"Die," Potter repeated resolutely. "You can either take the risk and enjoy their company while you can or shut yourself away and stay lonely."

Honestly, Draco thought that Potter was far too morose to offer any good advice. Perhaps he should be talking to someone more jovial, like Snape maybe. Even as Draco thought to leave Potter to his moping, he curiously did not feel the urge to depart. 

They sat in companionable silence, the only sounds was paper ripping from Potter's steady label picking. Draco wasn't sure when it had happened but he and Potter had actually stopped sniping at each other for the sake of it. They weren't exactly friendly nor did they converse about the more mundane things in life like Quidditch. This was perhaps the fist civil conversation they had that didn't include threats and insults.

Eventually, Draco asked, "Do the pros of friendship really outweigh its cons?"

"Of course," Potter answered immediately.

"Thanks for putting some thought in that."

"I don't need to think about it. My friends are the most important people to me."

"The most important? I am assuming you bear little to no allegiance to your family."

Potter's expression darkened, he then snorted in contempt. "The only family I knew had me sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs."

Draco looked at Potter perplexedly, "You're not the only one who's been punished by your parents or guardians."

"Yeah, punishment." Potter let out a bitter laugh, "I guess you could call those ten years a punishment because calling it anything else would be a lie."

"Far be it for me to be making assumptions about you Potter, but do you mean to tell me that your bedroom was in fact the cupboard under the stairs?"

Potter sighed impatiently. "Yes, Malfoy. That is exactly what I mean."

"Why?"

"Because I like dark and dingy places. Why do you think?" Potter snapped. "We're not all born with silver spoons in our mouths. Some of us actually had miserable childhoods which we would very much like to forget."

Draco studied the Gryffindor who had become his room mate through dumb luck or twisted fate. Annoyance and embarrassment glinted in cold green eyes.

"It sounds like you grew up in a pretty shitty environment," Draco began then asked, "Which do you think is worse? Having dead parents who loved you so much they gave up their lives to protect you or having live parents whose idea of love is the absence of criticism and abuse?"

Potter's expression registered surprise. Evidently he did not expect such a frank confession from Draco. Now sitting shoulder to shoulder, they studied each other's expressions for a while, probably both trying to determine what the other was saying without words. 

There was a sense of weariness behind Potter's eyes, a weight that should not have been present in someone as young as he. Having said that, Potter's fame and difficult childhood never did award him the privilege to be young. For a moment, Draco felt a pinch of guilt for adding to those difficult years. Nevertheless, Draco's own upbringing was anything but carefree.

While Draco fully admitted that he would neither receive the same reverence that Potter did nor would he be regarded as some kind of hero, he couldn't deny the similarities they shared. Most notably how their lives had been dictated by an insane megalomaniac virtually from the moment of their births. If their circumstances had not made them rivals, could they have been friends? Even best friends at that?

Draco had often watched the interaction between Potter and Weasley with a tinge of envy. Theirs was a relationship that Draco never had before. Even with the new found friendship with Blaise, and to an extent Pansy, Draco had yet to experience such easy and comfortable familiarity.

It was nice, he thought – sitting there with Potter, not fighting. Perhaps it was the novelty of it that made Draco enjoy it. Although, given the chance again, Draco certainly wouldn't say no to it. 

With one shoulder pressed against the cold window pane, Draco became acutely aware of how warm Potter's arm was next to his. With every subtle move Potter made, he brushed against Draco – from the gentle rise and fall of his chest to the subconscious act of pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to the languid drag he took from the bottle. With faint surprise, Draco noticed a familiar warmth spread through his own body, a tingle of excitement he hadn't felt with anyone in a while. Feeling as mellow as he did right now, he contemplated the notion for a brief moment, then simply acknowledged it for what it was.

Draco let his gaze trail to Potter's lips. They were slightly chapped and Potter's chin was lightly dusted with stubble. Evoking the memory of their impetuous kiss not too long ago, Draco thought, as kisses went, he had had better. Of course, the reason for initiating that kiss was humiliation, not seduction. He then wondered how their kisses would fare, if he were to seduce Potter.

The mere idea of seducing Potter made Draco's head swim.

Draco's thoughts were rudely interrupted when Potter so inconsiderately took another gulp from his bottle. He realized that he had been so deeply immersed in his own thoughts and observations that he hadn't paid any attention to what Potter was actually doing. 

Draco was about to make a snide comment when Potter suddenly leaned into him. Startled, Draco looked up and was caught by that brilliant green gaze, way too close. There was an odd look on Potter's face, a look that tugged on Draco's inside. Frozen in place, he watched Potter close the last few inches as if in slow motion. 

_He wouldn't..._

Suddenly able to move again, Draco pulled back and hit his head against the window. Potter didn't seem to have noticed Draco recoiling and Draco didn't have anywhere else to go. Truthfully, he didn't really want to go anywhere.

His heart thudding almost painfully in his chest, Draco watched Potter close the last few inches. Their lips brushed ever so lightly, when the door to the dormitory opened with a bang and Potter jumped. So much that he slid off Draco's bed with a loud thump. His face burned, whether embarrassed from trying to kiss Draco or from nearly being found out, Draco would never know.

Finnigan looked at them. "Not fighting again, are you?"

"And if we are?" Draco asked coolly, "Are you going to put a stop to it?"

"Not me, mate, I know how dirty you fight."

"I'm not your mate, Irish." Draco rose and stormed out of the dormitory.


	18. Interlude Two – Humility

The sheaf of parchment crinkled in her grip. Her footfalls clicked loudly as she ascended the spiral stairwell behind the gryphon. Not pausing to knock, as she knew she was expected, Taira pushed open the door to Dumbledore's office and strode in.

The steely blue eyes looked up and met sombre brown ones. There was no exchange of pleasantries, not even the cursory hello. It was not a time for such trivial matters.

"Humility," she said without preamble, "That's what the virus is called. It originated from Troutbeck, Cumbria. To be more specific, its first victims were patrons of The Broken Scythe, Meridian Smith included. Since then it has touched the length and breadth of the British Isle in varying degrees."

"That is dire news indeed." Dumbledore shook his head. "And you are certain that he is responsible?"

"Yes," Taira replied grimly. "What in the world would possess him to do such a thing?"

"He believes that this is the only way to put to an end to the evil that has spawned from Voldemort."

"Not a big fan of Mister Potter then?" Taira said sarcastically. 

"Galen Forseti suffered great loss during Voldemort's first reign."

At that, Taira snorted. "Who didn't? You don't see us all making deadly bio-weapons."

Dumbledore peered intently at her, almost as if he was chastising her. "If it were within your power, would you not have done all you can to thwart Voldemort?"

"You know I would, _if_ it were within my power. Problem is that power is neither mine nor his," Taira argued. "The esteemed Galen Forseti, Order of Merlin, Second Class for outstanding contribution to the field of Healing. You'd think he would've used his power for a better cause than genocide."

Silence descended into Dumbledore's office.

Taira lit a cigarette and then asked, "He didn’t seem like he would be capable of genocide. What did Voldemort do to him?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his expression registered mild exasperation at her dig before he spoke. "Galen's parents were squibs, and he was their only magical offspring. For that reason, he was spared when Voldemort tortured and slaughtered the rest of his family.

"He joined the Order, but soon his obsession with revenge overtook his common senses. He felt that the Order wasn’t doing enough and thus he disappeared.”

“Oh yes, I remember.” Taira nodded. “An explosion in his lab led many to believe he was dead.”

“Indeed, but the accident was staged. The rest you know."

Dumbledore looked down at the sheets that Taira had given him but he did not read them. He sighed then asked, "How bad is the epidemic?"

"Worse than what the Ministry acknowledges," she replied. "It's just going to keep getting more virulent the way it's being handled."

"We must inform them, then."

At that Taira snorted derisively. "If you wish; I won't hold my breath on them doing anything about it. It's all about not wanting a panic."

Dumbledore smiled serenely. "There is merit in that practice."

"Not when you compromise the safety of the public." Taira shook her head. "Precaution can be taken to minimise the damage but all this while they are still glossing over the facts, saying it's all under control. That couldn't be further from the truth. More people are going to die."

"What would you do in their position?"

Taira was tempted to retort, saying she would have never allowed herself to be in their position in the first place. However, that was counterproductive.

"I'd enforce a quarantine to start with," she said instead, "Then I would limit, if not banish, the use of magic in the worst affected areas."

"Banish the use of magic?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows with mild surprise.

"It's protean; it changes to whatever method of transmission is most effective. The last I heard, it uses magic itself to spread and I fear the worst of it is in Hogwarts and Hogsmeade."

"Ingenious." Dumbledore nodded briefly. "I had no idea he would be this clever."

"Do you think it is wise to underestimate him?" Taira asked. 

The old wizard nodded again. "Of course, you're absolutely right." Dumbledore's brow furrowed momentarily before asking, "Do you have a resolution?"

"I have leads," Taira replied. "I trust the source, but I cannot promise you a resolution. Not yet. Notwithstanding, we must act quickly. The Death Eaters are already on the move. No surprise there, since it has made a pretty big dent in their ranks. If they get to him first, it could be very bad for us."

"Your best effort is what anyone can ask for." Dumbledore smiled encouragingly, and then added, "I am sorry about this."

"Oh, don't get sentimental on me. We knew something like this was coming, otherwise you wouldn't have dragged me back here, kicking and screaming."

Amusement twinkled in Dumbledore's eyes. "Strange, I do not recall any kicking and screaming. However, I do remember there was quite a large amount of tequila."

"You're being pedantic, you old goat," Taira said fondly, "You know I'm better off skulking in a dark alley somewhere, sinking daggers into backs. You've got me teaching a bunch of belligerent brats, you should count yourself lucky all of them still have their faculties intact."

"You are doing a marvellous job, if I might add. I hear the students quite admire you, a few in particular are rather fond of you."

Taira scoffed. "Only because they don't know what I am capable of."

"Incidentally, how are your protégés doing?" Dumbledore asked.

"They're alright."

"And your – "

"He's coming along fine," Taira interrupted hastily.

"I gather you have not told him."

"The less people know the better, Professor. I thought we agreed on that."

Dumbledore nodded. "That decision is yours."

"Yes, it is," Taira replied resolutely.

"However you should not forget that sometimes secrets find their way into the open on their own."

"I'll burn that bridge when I come to it. I'll take my leave, Professor." Taira dipped her head respectfully. "There is much for me to do."

"Of course, of course. Good night."

With that, Taira left the Headmaster's office. At the bottom of the stairwell she sighed and headed back to her chambers. A part of her had always expected and dreaded this, yet another part had never believed in fate. Nevertheless, since substantiating the rumours about the epidemic, she could no longer deny the notion of destiny.

"Curse that wretched Seer," she growled to herself. "I never asked to be a part of your silly prophesying."

Picking up a mug, she filled it with a coffee from a pot that had been enchanted to stay warm. Shewondered briefly how the residents of Hogwarts were going to cope if Dumbledore were to take her advice and banished magic.

Although she was a Pureblood, Taira had spent some of her childhood living as a Muggle. Even after she had become a fully-fledged witch, she had never strayed far from the Muggle world. There was a simplicity , or perhaps even an ignorant bliss, to that world. 

The Muggles were ingenious in that they had managed to achieve many things without the use, and convenience, of magic. As a child she had always been fascinated by how well they made up for the lack of magic. In time she had begun to respect them.

Personally, giving up magic was no big deal to her.

At times like these, she wished she had disappeared into the Muggle world where no one magical would ever find her. However, Taira Rei was raised well enough to honour a blood debt; when Dumbledore had come calling, she'd known that she could not refuse him.

Reaching for a drawer in her desk, Taira rummaged through it before lifting out a small photo frame. There were two dark haired men in the photo. Perched upon the shoulders of one of the men was a little girl. They were laughing and smiling.

It was a happy picture; it was one of her best childhood memories.

Sliding the photo back into the drawer, the voice of that wretched Seer rang in her mind, never to be silenced.

_"Delivered into freedom by the stag and the hound, the servant of death shall thwart humility, and lead the child of light out of darkness."_


	19. Chapter Sixteen – Magic, Banished!

Draco glowered at the two young boys dressed in Gryffindor colours. They smirked cheekily at him as one of them hid something behind his back. They looked to be Year Two or Three students, one fair headed, the other dark, and lamentably they reminded Draco of a more infamous Gryffindor pair.

Grey eyes turned colder as Draco took one step closer to them. With a voice laced with the deepest of frost, Draco said, "Do not assume for one moment that being in Gryffindor will allow you the kind of privilege your poster boy and his sidekick gets. Even if you haven't learned how to respect the Prefect's badge you will learn how to fear _me_."

The smirks on the boys' faces faded rather rapidly.

"Hand it over and return to your dormitory before I change my mind about showing mercy," Draco finished.

The fair headed boy dropped a small red cylinder into Draco's open palm and they scurried off in fear.

A gleeful and satisfied smile curled Draco's lips. A childish part of him was revelling in the power of intimidation; he admitted he did miss it, especially when his targets were cocky, young Gryffindors. Not that they didn't deserve it, anyway.

Earlier that day, the students had been informed that classes were cancelled for the rest of the day. Students were allowed to congregate in three main locations – their common rooms, the library or the Great Hall. Prefects were ordered to patrol the hallways to ensure that no students were loitering or causing mischief.

Draco had found the pair setting off a variety of fireworks down the hallway he was patrolling. He examined the little firecracker in his hand and found it to be Weasley creation. Draco sniffed in distaste and pocketed the firecracker. He would dispose of it later.

As he continued his way down the abandoned hallway, he thought of how restless he felt. No reasons were given to why the classes were stopped; nevertheless, the majority of the students saw it as a welcomed break.

Draco knew all the teachers were in conference. He recalled the short exchange between Snape and Taira the night before.

The air in the makeshift potions classroom was stifling. Normally cool and dank, the very atmosphere seemed to be weighted down by the current crisis that Hogwarts was in. It was hardly a surprise since the majority of the casualties were Slytherins.

Snape moved with a single-minded purpose and all who knew him knew not to interrupt him. Draco quietly wondered why he had been summoned to the Potion Master's classroom while all this time he had been given no instructions. He sat and watched Snape bustle around the room, as if to prepare for the potion-making session of a lifetime, but Draco knew that he had been doing this every night since the students began collapsing in droves weeks ago. 

As valiant and diligent as his attempts were, they yielded no cure.

Draco had already asked if he could help, and Snape had told him he could in a moment. A lot of moments had passed but Snape still had not told Draco what he was supposed to do. If Draco didn't know better, it felt like Snape thought that if Draco was directly under his nose, the boy would somehow be spared the fate of his fellow Slytherins.

Draco didn't mind; it was nice to know, or perhaps pretend, that someone cared about his well-being. 

In addition to that, it was a rare privilege to watch a master at work. Potion making was a delicate, precise process. While students meticulously measured every ingredient, checked it thrice and stirred the cauldron with concerted, almost painful, effort, Snape seemed to move on instinct – adding things with a negligent flick of his wrist and mixing the concoction with casual indifference. He might as well be making a cup of tea for all the lack of interest he was displaying.

Nevertheless, Draco could see the determination and the concentration in the Professor's eyes even if his expression betrayed nothing. The boy wondered if Snape would notice if the Castle walls fell around his ears.

A loud knock on the door placed a frown on Snape's features. The door opened and Taira entered without invitation.

"Severus," she said. "It's futile. Your expertise would be more useful elsewhere."

Snape ignored her.

She continued, "Look, no amount of magic is going to make this better."

"Potion making is not built upon a foundation consisting of magic," Snape replied tartly. "Even a novice potion maker would know that."

"Don't be pedantic. I'm not going to argue about the theories of potions."

Snape and Taira glared at each other. Draco looked on in silence, intrigued by the exchange. The two professors looked ready to hex each other. He wondered who would win. Snape could probably hex better, but Taira would just pummel him into submission with his own ladle instead.

"What do you propose I do then?" Snape asked softly, his voice venomous. "Sit and watch more of my Slytherins succumb? If you haven't noticed that two thirds of those in the hospital wing are from our house. These children are in my charge, Rei, I will not let them down."

"You are not the only person to have lost those under your responsibility," she replied coldly, "You can't beat this with magic. Magic is making it worse."

"What are you talking about?"

"This is a genetically engineered virus made to target the magical. The reason why Slytherin has the highest number of casualties is because we have the most number of purebloods." Taira laughed sardonically. "Ironic, is it not, that mud blood may be the very thing that could preserve the magical race?"

Snape scowled. "You said magic is making it worse. How?"

"When initially transmitted, the virus remains dormant until spells are performed on or by the infected, then it becomes virulent. The virus feeds on magic. The more magic a patient uses, the more potent we're making the virus."

"How is that possible for a Muggle creation?" 

"I never said it was."

"Who's responsible for this?" Snape demanded.

"Who else but the esteemed Galen Forseti?" Taira replied, her tone sarcastic.

"Galen Forseti?" Snape repeated. "But Forseti is dead."

Taira gave him an indifferent shrug. "Yes, that's what people keep telling me."

Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What are you not telling me?"

"The Headmaster will tell you what you need to know," Taira replied dismissively and then handed a piece of parchment to Snape. "I am here to request for the following potions; the sooner the better. I can provide monetary recompense if necessary."

Snape scanned the list, his expression an irritated scowl. "Are you going to tell me what they are for, or should I ask the Headmaster instead?" he said sarcastically.

"Ask if you want but I doubt the Headmaster knows." Taira replied with a shrug, then moved to leave. Speaking over her shoulder, she added, "Incidentally, he has called a meeting first thing tomorrow." 

Shortly after that, Snape had dismissed Draco.   
Draco drew his attention back to the present and fervently wished that he possessed Rita Skeeter's Animagus skills; what would he do to be a fly on the wall in that little rendezvous? As Draco resumed his dull patrol, he amused himself with thoughts of the kind of situations he could spy on with such skills. At least that helped the day go by quicker, which passed without further event.

After dinner the students were instructed to return to their common rooms, Slytherins were to congregate in the ballroom, to await an announcement from their Heads of House.

The good news was classes were suspended until further notice. The bad news was they were confined to their common rooms, the library or the Great Hall. The worst news was all their wands were to be confiscated.

While his fellow Slytherins protested vehemently, giving Snape all kinds of stupid excuses as to why they couldn't possibly part with their wands, Draco merely rose from his seat imperially, approached his Head of House and without so much as a peep tagged and dropped his wand into the box. He could not fault his housemates from whinging about it – they did not hear the conversation between Snape and Taira, they had not watched their Head of House brewing all manner of potions to cure the ill, they did not understand the enormity of the situation.

Snape nodded his acknowledgement, pride glinting surreptitiously in his eyes. Once Draco had taken the first step, the rest of his year that was not currently lying comatose in the hospital wing fell in line; eventually followed by the rest of the Slytherins.

When every wand had been relinquished, Snape ordered them to bed. As the students began shuffling back to their guest dormitories, they moved in groups, whispering. Most of them had confused expressions, the others fearful. While Snape had implicated that the confiscation of their wands had everything to do with the epidemic that had swept through Hogwarts, he had not elaborated on any details.

Draco snorted to himself. That was a common and highly annoying trait among Death Eaters – keeping as much information as possible to him or herself, in the unlikely event said information may grant him or her a boon with someone in a position of authority.

Draco knew that if he wanted to know more, he would have to find an alternative source. He briefly wondered if McGonagall would have divulged more information to the Gryffindors. Although, the notion of admitting to Potter that he was in the dark quickly banished the idea of asking the other boy.

However, not willing to dismiss thoughts of Potter altogether just yet, Draco's lips turned up into a pleased grin as he contemplated seducing the information out of Potter instead. He had learned a few important things about Potter since their last encounter. One was that Potter's tongue was prone to loosen if he was inebriated, and two, he was not entirely the straight arrow that he hads so vehemently claimed to be. Those were things that could prove advantageous to Draco.

Of course, Draco really didn't need any excuse to want another tête-à-tête with Potter, but if he could kill two birds with one stone, all the better.

Draco entered his temporary abode and found Potter conveniently alone. It seemed to Draco that the other Gryffindors hardly slept there anymore. Unless of course they were in the hospital wing.

"Where's your fan club, Potter?" Draco asked snidely.

"Out distributing flyers about how wonderful I am," Potter replied, deadpanned, without looking up from the book he was reading.

"It seems I was mistaken; you do have a sense of humour." Draco laughed and made his way over to his bed. After taking his boots off, Draco had the intention to change out of his uniform when an awful realisation hit him.

Draco kicked his trunk savagely, which, of course, was an idiotic thing to do without his boots on. He yelped in pain and began swearing floridly.

"Not that I don't enjoy seeing you abuse yourself, what's got your knickers in a twist?" Potter said, his voice clearly tinted with amusement.

Draco hobbled to his bed and sat down with a harrumph. While massaging his sore toes he ground out, "My trunk is locked."

Potter looked at him nonplussed.

Draco sighed with consternation. "Locked with magic, you Muggle!" he exclaimed, using the epithet "Muggle" as if it were an insult.

"This is what paranoia and ego-centricity get you, Malfoy," Potter replied smugly. "Nobody here cares enough about you to want to rifle through your delicates."

"Shut up, Potter," Draco snapped. "I was more concerned about what you perverts might put in than what you take out."

"See? Paranoid."

"Oh, go hex yourself!" Draco groused, torn between glaring daggers at Potter and his firmly locked trunk.

Potter then rose, opened his own trunk and, to Draco's surprise, drew a gladius. Gripping it firmly, Potter lifted the blade, preparing to strike Draco's trunk.

Draco leapt off his bed hastily to grab Potter's arm. "Are you insane?" he hissed.

"Do you want this opened or not?"

"Opened, not pulverised! Moreover, this is a moonglow ebony trunk. Do you know how rare and expensive it is?"

Potter shrugged as he lowered his gladius. "Hey, I'm not the one who hasn't got a change of knickers."

Draco glowered. "Are you always this helpful in a crisis? And stop obsessing about my underwear."

"Try prying it open instead?"

"Brute force won't work. The charm needs to be dispelled or disrupted." Draco shook his head. "I'm doomed to languish in these school robes forever!"

"Are you always this melodramatic in a crisis?" Potter grinned as he rose and left the dormitory.

Draco stared after him, fervently wishing he had his wand so he could jinx Potter for being so useless. It was always easier to blame Potter after all. Several minutes later, which Draco spent thinking about painful curses to inflict on Potter, the latter returned with a large piece of rock in his hand.

"A rock? What are you, a Neanderthal?" Draco asked waspishly.

Potter gave him a withering look. "It's a Dispelling Stone."

"What? Those things are for Squibs, plus they are barely strong enough to undo elementary spells!"

"Do you want your stuff or not?"

"Fine but it's not going to work."

Potter held the Stone against the chest and whispered _"exigo"_ to activate it. A soft hum emanated from the chest but it remained locked.

"Don't say 'I told you so.'" Potter said tersely, "Make yourself useful and try prying it open at the same time."

Draco took the sword and proceeded to grumble about the indignity of being reduced to Muggle labour and Squib trinkets. Sliding the blade between the groove where the lid met the base, Draco waited for Potter to activate the Stone again before prising them apart. Draco was certain it would fail again when the lid suddenly popped open, smacking Potter in the chin, making him fall back with a loud thump.

Potter groaned. "Every time I have a conversation with you, I end up on my arse. You're jinxed, Malfoy."

He didn't sound angry though, his voice still holding that slightly exasperated amusement from earlier, and Draco laughed as he shuffled over to Potter. Hovering above the other boy, Draco noted with a strange kind of satisfaction that there was no tension in the other's body despite their closeness. He just lay there, calm and relaxed, watching Draco. Draco smiled. "And you're my hero."

"Blimey! Did you hit your head as well?" Potter asked mischievously, still not making any effort to move away. His chest moved with even breaths, and Draco found that he liked looking at Potter like this. Yes, he quite liked it.

"You saved me from being condemned to live without a change of clothes. That makes you a hero."

Potter's face betrayed nothing, but at the same time it seemed as open and unguarded as Draco had ever seen it. The eyes were clear and sharp behind the glasses, and not slightly unfocused from too much alcohol as had been the case the last time he'd seen them up close. 

He should have been worried when he saw Potter's lips curling at the corners into a smirk that was way too similar to Draco's own, but Potter's next words chased all thought in that direction out the window.

"In that case, I want a reward."

His stomach did a backflip in response. Draco Malfoy knew an opportunity when he saw it, and he was certainly not one to waste it. He matched Potter's smirk. "It would be my pleasure."

Without further reservations, Draco dipped his head and pressed his lips to Potter's. He met no resistance.

One of his hands found its way into Potter's hair, holding the other's head gently in place as he nibbled on Potter's mouth. Leisurely, he rubbed his lips against Potter's, enjoying their soft firmness. He couldn't suppress a smile when he felt Potter's hand come to lightly rest on his hip. Draco's tongue darted out, dipping teasingly into the corner of Potter's mouth. He felt the lips part readily at the subtle request and a jolt of excitement tore through his gut as the tips of their tongues touched ever so slightly.

Just as Draco was about to deepen the kiss, the door opened with a bang, making the boys spring apart. Breathless and dishevelled, they glared at the intruder. Draco groaned inwardly at the feeling of déja-vu. This was so not happening again.

"Bloody hell!" Finnigan exclaimed, his eyes upon the gladius beside Draco. "You're using swords now, Malfoy?"

"Shut it, Irish!" Draco growled. "Or I'll shove that sword up where the sun doesn't shine." 

He was furious now. Not only was his highly enjoyable snog interrupted before it had really begun, Draco knew he had missed the opportunity to question Potter. Rising, he stormed out of the dormitory and slammed the door as hard as he could.

~*~

It was near midnight. Draco pulled his hood over his head and slipped out of the Gryffindor dormitory. On his way out he noticed a small group of Gryffindors still awake, though they didn't seem to have noticed him.

"Did you hear?" one of them asked. 

"About?" her friend replied.

"The Ministry is going to quarantine Hogwarts. That's why we haven't been sent home."

"Where did you hear that?" another friend asked sceptically.

"I heard from Billy that his aunt Maeve heard from her neighbour ..."

Draco continued on his way and left the Tower promptly. Bad enough that the media was fabricating rumours like it was going out of fashion, he didn't really need to listen to what old biddies had to gossip about over their garden fence.

Draco hadn't been able to sleep the last couple of nights. He was not surprised to find that when he went to look for the reason he couldn't sleep, it was to do with his worry about all his housemates currently lying in the hospital facing a fate unknown. He was also worried that he might be next in line.

Thus he had taken to roam the hallways, just so that his body was doing something. If his body was doing something, his mind wasn't playing out all the horrible scenarios that could still befall him and Hogwarts. Besides, he was certain that there were many hallways, rooms and chambers in the Castle that had remained untouched by human hands for centuries. The repressed adventurer in Draco was seizing the opportunity to indulge.

His gait was light and graceful making his footfalls barely audible – a skill he had honed under Taira's tutelage. Draco busied his mind by taking in his surroundings, noticing each turn of the hallway, observing the view he had through the window, even noting the architectural styles of the curve of the roof above him. He had never realised it before, but it would seem that the Castle had been built by different people in different eras.

The hallway led to a door; behind that door was a spiral stairwell. Draco wondered how many towers there were in the Castle. The stairs led to the battlements and as he stepped out onto it, he immediately spotted another midnight prowler.

Draco recognised her immediately. She was seated on the edge of the battlements, her dark form silhouetted against the glow of the full moon. She was so still, she could've been carved out of stone and her gaze was fixed on the pale face of the moon.

"Good evening, Mister Malfoy," she spoke, her head still looking away from Draco.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I know," she replied enigmatically.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Draco asked as he approached.

"I'm not doing anything important."

He took it as a no, then boldly seated himself on the wall opposite her. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Taira had the grace to laugh at his sorry attempt. "What makes you think I'm nice?" she replied with a matching cliché.

They sat in silence, both looking at the majesty of the moon with the grandiose backdrop of the Scottish Highlands.

"You shouldn't be wandering around on your own," Taira eventually said. "The Castle is not safe."

"I cannot remember a single year I've been here that the Castle hasn't been declared unsafe at some point or another," Draco replied with a nonchalant shrug. "Besides, I can handle it."

"Don't get cocky, Draco."

Draco hid his surprise – this was the first time she had used his first name.

She continued, "You're good with magic, but right now you can't use magic and there are a lot of everyday magical things that can be death traps for a non-magical person. Not to mention you run the risk of getting exposed."

"At the risk of sounding recalcitrant, what about you? Don't you run the same risks?"

"Yes, but I've got more experience in handling these things than you do."

"How so?"

Taira smiled slyly at him. "Is that your subtle way of prying into my past?"

Draco returned her smile, equally cunning, and looking totally unrepentant. "Depends. Did it work?"

She laughed. "In part."

"Then, yes. So tell me."

"I spent some time working for an archaeological team. Some chambers had traps that were set to go off at the hint of active magic usage. With a little bit of innovation I learned to blend passive magic and Muggle ingenuity to get what I want."

"I never pictured you as an archaeologist."

"Contrary to popular belief, and the Hogwarts' syllabus, our history contains more than giant and goblin wars. Antiquity is filled with a rich tapestry of forgotten rituals and spells. The ancient Dark Arts alone could fill Hogwarts' library."

Draco wondered if he should read into that comment. He decided not to; after all, how was she to teach her students to defend themselves against a subject she knew nothing of?

An idle silence fell between them, then suddenly Taira's demeanour changed. She had been gazing lazily at the moon; now her attention snapped towards the opposite direction.

Draco's eyes followed hers. 

"What's that?" He asked squinting into the distance.

"An owl," Taira replied curtly. "I think it's time you went to bed."

"A little late for corresponding, no?" Draco asked ignoring her command.

Taira moved to stand, extending her right arm for the owl to perch. Swiftly untying the message, she thanked the bird by way of a treat, telling Draco she had been expecting it.

"Bedtime, Mister Malfoy," she said in a voice that brooked no arguments. "Don't make me give you detention for being out of bed after hours." With that she descended from the battlements.

Draco was no fool. He knew Taira was working to find the cure. Her extensive knowledge was the most obvious clue, moreover she had pretty much said so herself when she had declined to resume training Draco and Potter. After all what could be more pressing than thwarting the virus that could kill them all?

A few moments passed before Draco pulled his hood up and stole after Taira. After all, detention with Taira was nothing new to him.


	20. Chapter Seventeen – Strained Alliances

Draco was thankful that Taira did not floo or portkey to her destination. Instead, she walked. Draco surmised that she was heading towards Hogsmeade. Keeping a good distance from her, Draco skirted through the shadows. She strode through the high street and headed towards where the Shrieking Shack stood. Draco hoped that the Shack was not her destination. The last thing he needed at this late hour was an encounter with another disembodied head. Fortunately for him, she turned away from the Shack and towards the wilder side of the village’s edge.

Scraggly bushes littered the beaten path while gnarled trees threw sinister shadows over the quiet night. Taira strode further into the wilderness. The brilliance of the moon created pockets of light that made it possible for Draco to follow her easily. Evidently, she was not concerned about being followed.

Draco was about to move out from behind a tree when he was suddenly pulled back. An invisible hand clamped over his mouth to keep him from crying out.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Potter's breath ghosted over Draco's cheek making him shiver involuntarily. Flashes of memories from the previous day washed over him, knotting deliciously in his belly and sending another tremble down his spine. Potter was so close, Draco could easily steal another kiss, but he was well aware, although not without regret, that there was a time and a place, and this was not it.

"Same as you, I imagine." Draco eased out of Potter's grasp then began groping at him to find where the opening of the cloak was. "Let me under that cloak or we'll lose her."

"No!" Potter cried, sounding scandalised, and began pulling away, but Draco held fast.

"Which is more important? Following Taira or arguing with me? You know I'm relentless."

With a curse, Potter drew Draco towards him and then threw the cloak over the both of them. Draco could feel the warmth seeping from Potter's body beckoning him to move even closer, but he managed to fight the urge, slightly irritated at this sudden tendency to get easily distracted.

Potter leaned into Draco's ear and whispered sternly, "Not. A. Sound."

While Draco was tempted to make a snide comment, he decided that he should behave. After all, he wanted to stay on Potter's good side. Instead, Draco gave Potter a nod.

Potter then held Draco close and said, "Left foot first."

With another nod, Draco placed his left foot forward and they began to move in synchrony. Draco followed the subtle directions that Potter was giving with his hands resting on Draco's hip and shoulder. He had to admit Potter knew how to navigate and manoeuvre the both of them under very close quarters. Draco wondered if it came from experience scuttling around with the Weasel and the Mudblood.

A solitary owl hooted, making Draco jump. It was then that he realised he wasn't the only one startled. Skulking among the trees ahead was a short, thin silhouette dressed in Muggle clothing. It kept looking around nervously, flinching noticeably when the owl hooted. Perhaps that was why it had not seen Taira sneaking up.

"Galen Forseti," Taira said coldly as she pointed her wand at him.

Forseti squeaked in surprise. He backed into a tree clutching a broomstick before him, as if it could protect him from Taira's wrath. "Rei! Is that you? Where is Professor Dumbledore?"

"The Headmaster does not deal with the likes of you," she replied. "I sent you that owl; I was curious to see if you would respond. You must be either desperate or stupid to come to the scene of your crime. Or perhaps you’re to revel in the carnage you have created? "

"N-no," Forseti stammered, and then his voice steadied as he continued. "Humility wasn't designed to kill."

"Well, you screwed up!"

Forseti shook his head vigorously. "It won't kill if you don't use magic."

Taira snorted derisively. "Oh, is that it? So we should just stop? Give it up like it's some bad habit? Maybe we can have group therapy once a week – Magic Anonymous. _Hi, my name is Rei, and I have been magic-free for twenty six days._ "

Forseti wailed, "Don't mock me!"

"Seeing that you are at the end of the wand that goes bang, I don't think you are in the position to make demands."

"No." Forseti shook his head wildly. "You... you, of all people, should've understood."

"Me? Why would I understand? You insult me if you think I understand genocide." Taira sneered. "I should've killed you years ago."

"No, please, I need your help. You've got to help me," Forseti's voice began sounding panicked again.

"Help?" Taira laughed. "From those you have condemned? You must be joking."

"They'll kill me!"

"I doubt they'd beat me to it," Taira replied viciously.

"Please -"

Taira interrupted, "You deserve no less, murderer. Give me the anti-virus and I’ll consider protecting your worthless life."

Then suddenly Draco heard it – the unmistakable hum of broomsticks at full speed. The four of them turned to the direction of the approaching riders in time to see a number of separate hexes flying towards Forseti. Taira dove to push Forseti down just as Draco threw his weight on Potter to get them out of harm's way. Splintered bark showered them as a nearby tree was obliterated.

"You see?" Galen cried hysterically while clutching at Taira. "If you let me die you won't get your cure!"

"Get up!" Taira barked, casting a Shield Charm before she and Forseti ran for thicker cover.

Draco could now see the trademark masks of Death Eaters, and for the first time he was relieved to know his father wasn't among them. More spells flew around the woods, lighting it up in an eerie kaleidoscope of colours.

"Let's go," Draco said rising.

"Going to help your Death Eater pals?"

Draco gritted his teeth, then grabbed Potter and slammed him hard against the nearest tree. "I am sick and tired of your mood swings, Potter. If you can't decide whether I'm friend or foe that's your problem, stop trying to make it mine!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Potter snarled in return.

"Oh no? In all the six years you have never apologised to me except for that night when Weasley fell ill. What about all that times you turned up to train with me? And what were you trying to do when you offered me that drink?"

Potter frowned but did not reply.

Leaning in closer, Draco whispered angrily, "Either you trust me, or you hex me now. That's the only way you're going to stop me from helping Taira. Your friend isn't the only one who's sick."

They silently stared at each other, a battle of equally stubborn wills, neither willing to give in. Draco could feel Potter's heart beating rapidly under Draco's arm where he was still holding the other against the tree.

"Let me go, Malfoy," Potter eventually said, looking away. "We don't have time for this."

"No, we don't," Draco replied frostily.

In part, Draco was not surprised by Potter's suspicions. Draco had hardly had the chance to prove himself, if indeed he needed to. Potter's past has been riddled with betrayals, and to readily accept Draco, whose family had been known for its association to the Dark Lord, required an incredible leap of faith. Draco didn't think Potter had much of that left. Nevertheless, Draco sensed that Potter trusted Taira implicitly. Thus, if Taira trusted Draco, then logically, Potter should trust Draco too.

Of course, Draco had long suspected that Potter was uncontaminated by logic.

Perhaps, if Draco had to prove himself to Potter, this might be his chance. However, that aim was only secondary to aiding Taira get the cure.

Suddenly feeling a rush of fierce determination, Draco rose and ran towards the battle. It wasn't hard; all he had to do was follow the splintered trees and burning underbrush. He was dimly aware of Potter following him.

By the time the boys arrived, the Death Eaters had abandoned their brooms to give chase on foot. Taira and Forseti had apparently stopped running, but spells were still being fired. Draco wondered if he was in over his head, especially considering he did not have his wand with him.

There were too many Death Eaters for a frontal assault. Draco knew they needed a distraction fast, before Potter decided to jump into they fray like the misbegotten hero he was to save the damsel and the helpless. Then again, the git had pulled his Invisibility Cloak back on – for all Draco knew he was already in the fray.

It was then that Draco remembered the confiscated firecracker he had yet to dispose of. Hurriedly, he lit it on one of the burning bushes then lobbed it into the middle of the fight.

Immediately, a giant sparkly dragon burst into the night, startling everyone. Seizing the opportunity of the stunned silence, Draco picked up a broomstick, mounted another and charged at the nearest Death Eater like a knight in a jousting tournament. Knocking the man over, Draco wheeled around and then swung his makeshift weapon again, hitting the Death Eater in the head.

From the corners of his eyes, Draco saw another Death Eater throwing himself into a tree, repeatedly. Draco smirked; evidently Potter could be quite vicious. He mentally filed that little titbit away.

"Forseti!" Draco heard Taira shout. "Come back, you pillock!"

Draco whirled around to see Forseti taking off. Two Death Eaters ran for their brooms and gave chase.

"Potter! Catch!" Draco cried as he tossed the extra broom towards where he believed Potter was. Potter was in flight in moments, his Cloak flapping behind him wildly.

Landing next to Taira, Draco said, "Get on and cast a lightening spell on yourself. Otherwise we'll be too heavy to catch up."

Taira gave him a withering look.

"Trust me, Professor."

Surprisingly, Taira did as she was told with no further protest. As soon as Draco kicked off the ground, Taira tightened her grip and he could feel her burying her face in his back while swearing under her breath. Clearly, Snape was mistaken – Taira would willingly mount a broom when someone else's life depended on it too.

"If we live through this, you can put me in detention until my NEWTs are over. I promise I won't complain. Much," Draco joked.

"Just shut up and fly."

"Relax, you're in good hands, Professor," Draco sought to reassure Taira as he raced to catch up to the others.

Three silhouettes soon came into view. Draco immediately spotted Potter, who was closing in on one of the Death Eaters. Thus, Draco chased the other. He wasn't sure if he would be able to catch up, so he decided on another approach.

"Processor! Cast _Incendio_ , straight ahead!"

To her credit, Taira trusted Draco enough to point and whisper _”Incendio”_ without even looking up.

The end of the Death Eater's robes burst into flames. Rider and broom then began falling in a spectacular plume of smoke. Draco chuckled to himself.

Turning his attention back to Potter, Draco was horrified to find Potter in an aerial wrestling match with an opponent who was clearly larger and stronger than he was. Draco wondered, not for the first time, if bravery and intelligence were mutually exclusive in Gryffindors.

As Draco had expected, the Death Eater had managed to unseat Potter. Potter's broom fell, but he clung on to the Death Eater. The sudden extra weight on the broom made it tilt. Try as he might, the Death Eater could not right his broom and began spiralling out of control. Before long, both the Death Eater and Potter lost their grips.

However, the moment Draco had seen Potter's broom fall, he had rushed over.

 _"Malfooooooy!"_ Taira screeched at the sudden speed and dive that Draco had put them in. She might have broken several of Draco's ribs too.

Draco ignored the pain and made a desperate move to catch Potter.

Broomsticks were not designed to carry two people, much less three. Draco knew that they would crash; he was not stupid. However his aim was not to execute some daring, noble rescue and have Potter in his arms; all he was looking to do was slow Potter's descent enough to stop him from falling to his death.

They descended down in a nausea-inducing corkscrew until they skimmed the tree tops. That was when Draco released Potter and attempted to land in as dignified a heap as possible. Draco was confident Potter would survive if he didn't land on his head. Then again, landing on his head could be the very thing that saved him.

With a bump and a thump, Draco and Taira touched down in a sprawl.

"Professor? Are you okay?" Draco asked as he shook leaves out of his hair.

"You should hope I am dead, Mister Malfoy, because I am going to kill you!" Taira growled, still lying on the ground.

Draco bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. Taira wouldn't appreciate it in the least. He extended his hand to her.

"What about Mister Potter? Did you kill him too?" Taira asked as she stood.

"No, though not for the lack of trying," Potter said as he appeared. He looked a little worse for wear, but otherwise unhurt. He continued, "Forseti got hit by a curse. He landed in that direction."

Taira turned to look where Potter was pointing. She nodded. "I suppose it's a waste of breath to tell you both to go back to Hogwarts?"

"Of course," Potter replied defiantly.

"Fine. Let me make this very clear – don't be a hero," she said sternly. "Heroes die young. Here, arm yourself." She quickly Transfigured two daggers from fallen branches, which she handed to the boys.

With that they went in search of Forseti. The trail led them into what looked like an extensive maze of caves. They found Forseti's broom at the entrance but no sign of him. Venturing deeper, they eventually found him.

He was dead.

Taira swore floridly. Draco's heart began to sink, believing it was over, that with Forseti's death, the cure was lost to them. Taira paced the cavern, muttering angrily to herself. Draco was about to ask if they should return to Hogwarts when Taira levitated Forseti's body. It was then Draco realised she was neither pacing nor muttering. Taira was performing a ritual.

She laid Forseti in the middle of a sigil she had drawn. Taking Potter's dagger, she stepped onto the sigil and then drew her blood to anoint Forseti. With a whispered incantation from Taira, Forseti twitched and said, "Rei."

Potter gave out a startled cry as Draco took in a sharp breath – he had grown up around enough Dark Magic to recognise it. More importantly, this was as Dark as it came, not to mention rare. While powerful Dark Wizards could learn necromantic spells to do things like reanimate corpses, and thus creating Inferi, only a natural-born _Mortismagus_ could bring the consciousness of the dead back.

"Galen Forseti," Taira said in a commanding voice. "Where is the anti-virus?"

"If I tell you now, you'll just let me die."

"You are already dead, imbecile!"

"I am?" he actually sounded surprised.

"Yes. Tell me, Galen. This is your last chance for redemption. Don't be remembered as the maniac who betrayed and killed his own kind. You'll be no better than the Dark Lord."

Forseti sighed wistfully. "I did it to save us all, you know? Without magic, without such power, You-Know-Who would have just been a bitter old man with illusions of grandeur."

"If only it were that simple. Tell me where the anti-virus is," Taira commanded again. "Don't make me compel you to do my bidding."

Forseti's lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "It's in the blood, always safest in the blood."

"Thank you, Galen Forseti. Go now; there is no place for you in the mortal plane. Go, and be judged as you deserve."

Forseti twitched again and said no more. Draco shivered, though not entirely from the damp chill that hung in the cavern. With such Darkness in her, it was a surprise Taira wasn't a Death Eater.

Draco and Potter continued to watch in stunned silence as Taira Transfigured two pebbles into crystal phials to hold Forseti's blood.

"Thank you for finding the cure, missy," a new voice resounded in the chamber making Draco start. The two Death Eaters had obviously survived the aerial battle; their wands were drawn. "We were worried that Alecto's enthusiasm might have killed the blood traitor before we got it."

Alecto sniffed in distaste. "Don't blame me for that, Amycus. He was a weakling."

Amycus ignored her and continued, "Hand over the phials, and we'll let you live. In fact, I am offering you a hand of friendship. I am certain the Dark Lord will find your gift invaluable."

"Oh yes, I have no doubt he will," Taira agreed with a sinister smirk. She rose slowly and took a bold step forward. "But even the likes of him cannot afford my services."

"Insolent brat!" Alecto exclaimed, pointing her wand at Taira.

"Sticks and stones," Taira replied flippantly.

"Enough," Amycus snapped. "Come or go, live or die, we don't care. We don't need you to get the cure. There is plenty of blood left."

"Is there?" Taira cocked her head and smirked. She flicked her wand and Forseti's body began to mummify before Draco’s very eyes. Every drop of moisture was evaporated instantly.

Before either Death Eater reacted, Amycus was thrown to the ground by an unseen assailant. Seizing the opportunity, Taira Stunned Alecto just as she tossed the phials to Draco.

Amycus howled in rage. He moved to hex Draco, but Taira was faster, countering the wizard's spell. She turned to look at Draco and barked, "GO!" before focusing her attention back on Amycus.

Draco knew what was at stake, so without another word, he spun on his heels and pelted back down the tunnel. He concentrated on his goal – to get out of the caves and straight back to Hogwarts.

The tunnels twisted and turned and seemed to go on forever. Draco feared that he may have gotten lost. When a distant muffled explosion sounded behind him and the ground beneath his feet shook, Draco stumbled. A strong hand steadied him, and for a moment he feared that a Death Eater might have caught up to him, but it was Potter.

Draco gave Potter a curt nod by way of thanks and they carried on. More explosions sounded and the tremors steadily became more violent. The boys found it increasingly difficult to keep their pace, often losing their footing on the unsteady ground. Draco could only wonder what manner of spells Taira and Amycus were using on each other to create such a ruckus. No doubt the more they fought, the greater the compromise to the caves, and it would likely collapse before long.

When they came up to the next junction, the boys turned in opposite directions. They stopped and exchanged grim looks.

Before they could make a decision, however, a particularly violent tremor sent some loose stones from the ceiling crashing down onto them. The debris hit Potter squarely on his head, knocking him out. Draco cursed as he moved to see how badly Potter was hurt. Draco could feel the lump on the top of Potter's head, but there was no blood.

"Potter, wake up!" Draco really didn't fancy dragging the Gryffindor the rest of the way out.

"It would be better if he didn't, Draco." A chilling, female voice from the darkness startled Draco. He raised his torch.

"And why is that?" Draco asked defiantly.

"It would make our retreat much less bothersome." A tall, slim figure stepped into the torchlight and lowered her hood and mask. It was Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Our?" Draco mocked, rising to his feet but remained firmly between Potter and her. "A little presumptuous, don't you think? I have no intention of going anywhere with you."

"You would abandon your family for blood traitors like him?" Bellatrix drawled; a small cruel smile curled her lips. "If you don't take the anti-virus and come with us, your mother is going to die."

Draco exclaimed in anger, "You would threaten to kill your own sister?"

"No, silly boy, your mother has been taken by the illness."

Cold fear clenched around Draco's gut like an iron fist. In the time of Hogwarts epidemic, Draco had not even thought to question if his mother was safe. Because he had never shown any symptoms, Draco assumed that she would be spared too.

"We've been taking care of her, but she won't survive long. She needs you, Draco." Bellatrix attempted to smile warmly, but Draco thought it only looked creepy. She lifted her hand and crooked her finger at him. "Now be a good boy, take the anti-virus and come with Aunty Bella."

"Don't patronise me, _Aunty Bella_ ," Draco snapped. His mind was whirring, his heart was torn between his duty to his family and his promise to his friends, and even as he wrestled with the choice, he knew ultimately which he would choose. Potter could take care of his friends, but his mother had no one else.

Draco continued, "I know you and the Dark Lord have ulterior motives; I find it hard to believe that you and he were doing it for my mother's benefit."

A loud boom echoed in the tunnel, shaking the walls, several more loose stones fell from the ceiling.

Draco glowered at her then eventually said, "I have the anti-virus, not Potter, and I will go with you, but know this, Aunty Bella, I do what I feel is necessary to protect what is mine."

He then crouched down to pick Potter up, and was surprised to find angry green eyes glaring at him. Before Draco could utter another word, Potter lashed out and caught Draco in the chest.

"How stupid was I to trust you?" Potter exclaimed and tried to hit Draco again.

"Potter, stop!" Draco rolled away and scrambled to his feet, another violent tremor made him lose his balance.

Potter, incandescent with rage, seized the front of Draco's cloak and slammed him roughly into the ground. It was obvious that Potter had only caught on the end of Draco's conversation with Bellatrix. Draco knew from the look in Potter eyes that whatever bridges they might have built over the year had been destroyed with that one sentence. He knew that the next time Potter faced him Potter would probably try to kill him. Whether Potter uncovered the truth or not, Draco knew that he would not forgive Draco. 

The last boom that resounded in the dungeon had begun bringing the walls down around them in waves of deadly, unyielding stone.

Draco only had moments to react – he reached into his pocket for his dagger and, with the flick of his wrist, sliced Potter's belly. Potter withdrew with a gasp, giving Draco the opportunity to kick him away.

Before Draco had the chance to roll away, he felt the crushing blow of the crumbling ceiling upon him.


	21. Chapter Eighteen – The More Things Change

Somewhere in the heart of the Welsh wilderness lay a castle ruin. The crumbling rubble was always mired in an unnatural fog, be it summer or winter, day or night. For centuries, tales of the ruins had permeated the Muggle villages surrounding the area. It was cursed, they said. It was rife with beings of ungodliness, they said. It was a place of evil, they said. No one dared approach the ruins; even the most foolhardy were kept at bay. The Muggles were wise to heed those tales.

It was once a glorious castle, beheld in the highest esteem, but the very walls themselves had been cursed when its lord and master was betrayed and murdered. Yet, even as it was left to the ravages of time, the true façade of the castle was not as the Muggles saw it – derelict, broken and hazardous. Indeed, every turret of the castle still stood tall and proud, for just as the castle was cursed, it was also enchanted, imbued with a magical power that had kept the walls erect.

Draco shuddered as he looked out the window. There was nothing beyond the glass safe for a swirling black mist and a deepening sense of foreboding.

Just moments ago, Draco had awakened. The first thing he had expected to feel was pain as the last thing he remembered was the collapse of the tunnel that he'd been in, so he was surprised by the absence of pain except for a slight tingle on his left forearm. Lifting his left arm up to examine it, he found that it was still bandaged – from his wrist to his elbow.

Draco concluded that he was rescued, but by whom?

Rising from the bed, he looked around the strange room. It was sparsely furnished with just a bed, a chair and a small table, on which a plate of sandwiches and a glass of pumpkin juice lay. Curiously all the furniture was charred black. The walls were also black. Turning to the window he had hoped that the view outside would give him a hint as to where he was. However, just like the room he stood in, the outside was jet black. He moved to open the door but found it locked.

Draco concluded that he was more likely to be in the company of foes rather than friends.

Speaking of whom, how had Taira and Potter fared? Did Taira successfully defeat Amycus and fled the caves? Draco wasn't too worried about Taira. He got the impression that she was used to these sorts of confrontations. But what of Potter? For a moment, Draco felt as if he'd lost something precious as he remembered the last look on Potter's face, the anger, the helplessness, but most of all the hurt and disappointment. Had the other been caught in the avalanche of dirt and captured as well? Or did he make it back to Hogwarts?

Draco shook his head, as if to clear it. He didn't want to think about Potter. The git just complicated things. One minute he would be friendly, even flirtatious, the next he would be attempting to bash Draco's skull in. Draco honestly didn't get it and thinking about Potter was giving Draco a headache. Even so, Potter did not leave his thoughts willingly. Akin to a Muggle movie, scenes of their past encounters rushed before his mind's eyes, finally coming to a halt at the climax of their personal soap-opera. The kiss they shared had been awesome, and after the untimely interruption, Draco had been looking forward to being able to get a second impression on just how good a kisser Potter was, but he also wasn't stupid. Draco knew a simple kiss didn't promise an eternity of love or even a lasting commitment. Sometimes a kiss was just a kiss, even if one wanted it to be more. At least he thought he did, though at the moment, Draco wasn't so sure anymore. Did his uncertainty manifest from his current situation or had he simply changed his mind?

Moving to the table, Draco tried to distract himself by eating the sandwich. Even as he chewed savagely, as if the sandwich had personally affronted him, Potter still loomed large in his thoughts. An unpleasant sensation coiled in his belly. Either the sandwich had gone off, or it was regret.

Draco knew Potter now considered him the enemy. However, he had little choice but to trust and depend on Potter to save his friends.

When Potter was busy pummelling Draco into the ground back in the caves, Draco had taken the opportunity to slip one of the phials into Potter's pocket. Draco knew Bellatrix would never let Potter go if she knew Draco had shared the anti-virus with him. Even though Draco could expect his actions to vindicate him, given their history, he seriously doubted Potter would be that magnanimous. Should their paths cross again, perhaps it would be wise for Draco to consider the other boy as an enemy too. At least until Draco was exonerated.

The click of the door spun Draco around. When the door opened, Draco was not surprised to see Bellatrix sashay in.

"What, no hugs and kisses?" she laughed as she seated herself in the chair.

Draco stared at her wordlessly.

Bellatrix continued, "You have done well, Draco. We're very proud of you. Although, I must admit we were rather concerned about the path that you were seemingly headed down. Notwithstanding, you did what was right and you have been a great service to the Dark Lord."

"I did what I had to do to save my mother's life," Draco spat. "Or are you telling me that was a lie to make me betray my friends?"

"You would doubt the words of your own aunt?"

"I have not had the … pleasure to get to know you in order to determine if you are trustworthy," Draco scoffed. "Blood ties do not equate to credibility, Aunt Bella."

Bellatrix smiled broadly. "It would seem your father has taught you well."

Draco was tempted to sling another sardonic remark but decided to hold his tongue. He was locked up in room in an undisclosed location. Effectively, he was at Bellatrix's mercy. Draco would not put it beyond his aunt to use him for the Dark Lord's benefit. So instead he asked, "Where am I?"

"Wales."

Frowning, Draco asked his next question, knowing that his aunt would not divulge any details. "How long have I been here?"

"A few days."

Draco was surprised at that length of time. Had his sleep been induced or had he been truly injured that badly and needed the time to recover?

"How is my mother?" he asked again.

"Recovering, just like all the others who had been inflicted with the accursed virus." Bellatrix then reached into her robes, pulled out a small vial and laid it on the table. "Speaking of which, you should take this."

Draco eyed the vial suspiciously. The liquid within was green and had an effervescent property.

"You still do not trust me? I am crushed." Bellatrix laughed again. "Do you really think I would want to poison you, my dear nephew?"

"Perhaps not, but I have a few reason to believe that the Dark Lord would want my death."

"Ah, the young today – ever so melodramatic." Bellatrix shook her head with a smirk. She rose, picked up the vial, and moved towards Draco. She lifted Draco's left hand and placed the vial in it. "With the sample you brought us, our very skilled potions master was able to derive a potion to cure everyone. Take it. It will prevent you from contracting the virus in the future."

Draco knew that Bellatrix used the term 'everyone' rather loosely; it was rather 'everyone who was in service of the Dark Lord and no one else'.

Bellatrix continued, "Have no fear that the Dark Lord desires your death. I am not the only one who is pleased with your progress and what you did to secure the anti-virus for us. He recognises extraordinary talent in you and would be poorer without you in his service."

Still clutching Draco's left hand, Bellatrix then pushed Draco's pyjama sleeve up. Draco felt his blood run cold as his aunt's wand tip touched his bandaged arm lightly.

"This is your opportunity to prove to the Dark Lord that the Malfoy name is worthy of his cause. I am certain you will fare better than your father did. After all, the blood of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black runs in your veins," Bellatrix purred, as she dragged her wand tip from Draco's elbow to his wrist. "Do not fail us, Draco."

The shredded pieces of bandage fell.

Draco wanted to look away, but all he could do was stare with incomprehensible rage, stare at the grotesque serpent and skull etched upon his skin.

"Welcome to the family," Bellatrix whispered into Draco's ear and kissed him on the cheek.

With that, Bellatrix retreated from the room.

Draco slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor in desolation. Even after all he had striven to achieve, even after his attempts to move out of the shadow of the Dark Lord, he was inevitably drawn into the maelstrom.

All his efforts had been for nothing; he had failed.

Bowing head into his knees, Draco allowed the tears to fall for the first time in a long while.

Potter's voice whispered in the back of his mind, "The more things change, the more things stay the same."

Had he realised then that Potter's words would be prophetic, he would not have been so arrogant in his bid to free himself from the Dark Lord's clutches. He had honestly believed that his choices, and his alone, could make the difference.

Humility was indeed a harsh lesson to learn.


	22. Epilogue – Veritas Lux Mea

A low hum of conversation filled Hermione's ears as she stepped into the hospital wing. The wing was crowded with students, both patients and visitors. Since the quarantine had been lifted, the victims of Humility had been inundated by friends and well-wishers.

As Hermione meandered through the throng, the hum began to crescendo. Almost immediately Madam Pomfrey poked her head out of her office and began to chastise the students and threatened the visitors with expulsion from the hospital wing. The students obediently turned their volume down a few notches. Quietly, Hermione wondered how often this ritual had repeated.

At the far end of the hospital wing, Hermione found Harry sitting by Ron's bed, who was dozing. She was quite surprised anyone could sleep with so much going on around. Taking the seat on the other side of the bed, she smiled at Harry by way of greeting. Harry gave her a nod of acknowledgement then turned to resume staring unseeingly out the window.

Hermione resisted sighing as she looked closely at the forlorn figure opposite her. She had tried her best to cheer Harry up, but he was not prepared to listen to her. She had said all she could say, given her the account of what had happened, or perhaps to put it more aptly, what she believed to have happened. It was now up to Harry to resolve his own doubts and regrets.

Wrenching her gaze from him, for it hurt her to see him so despondent, the events of the last week replayed in her mind's eye with startling clarity.

When her search for Harry, and by extension Taira, turned out fruitless that fateful night, Hermione knew Harry's instincts had been right. Taira was the central figure of unravelling the mystery behind _Humility_.

Hermione returned to Gryffindor Tower in a sombre mood made worse by Malfoy's conspicuous absence while she and Neville sat in restless anxiousness as they waited for any sign from Harry or Taira. Hermione kept fiddling with a shiny galleon in her hand, waiting for it to warm up, and when it eventually did, she sprang to her feet and pelted up into Harry's dormitory. Throwing open his trunk, Hermione searched frantically for the Marauder's Map.

By the main gates a small black dot appeared labelled _"Harry Potter"_. Hermione and Neville did not hesitate to rush out where Harry was staggering, bloody and disorientated.

"We failed," he muttered. "He betrayed us. He had it, he took it and now Ron is going to die because I was stupid enough to trust him. I failed Ron. I failed them."

Harry's words seared her heart, knowing exactly to whom Harry was referring. It would seem that night was rife with betrayal. Hermione could be angry at Malfoy later; she would take care of Harry first.

Hermione and Neville took Harry back into the castle. Hermione briefly contemplated sending for Madam Pomfrey, but she wondered how much the matron could fix him up without magic. Harry didn't seem mortally wounded, though he hadn't spoken a single word after those few at the gate; Hermione decided that she and Neville could patch him up for now.

"Why hasn't he said anything else?" Neville asked in a worried voice as he took Harry's shoes off.

"He might have a concussion and could probably be in shock," Hermione sighed. As she folded up Harry's jacket something slipped out of a pocket. Neville caught the falling object before it hit the ground.

They stared at the contents of Neville's hand – it was a small phial filled with a thick, red liquid.

"Could this be..?" Hermione asked. "But he said Malfoy took it."

Neville replied, "Maybe he was wrong?"

"It doesn't matter. Go, go find Professor McGonagall and give it to her. It could be it," Hermione urged.

Neville nodded resolutely and rushed off to find McGonagall.

When Neville returned his face was positively glowing. It was the cure. Despite what Harry had said, Malfoy had not taken it. Hermione wondered what had happened to make Harry think that Malfoy had betrayed them.

Which begged the question, where was Malfoy? Or Taira for that matter?

Harry had not been able to tell them. He had barely spoken about what happened. He put on a brave face and he rejoiced along with the others at the recovery of Humility's victims. But beneath the myriad façades he had raised, Hermione knew that guilt and regret were eating him up.

A sudden bang snapped Hermione out of her reverie and startled Ron out of his doze. She looked up and saw a hamster in a miniature plane zoom around the hospital wing before disappearing in a puff of smoke. It was obviously another Weasley joke item. The students roared in laughter.

After Madam Pomfrey had reprimanded them again, Hermione notice Blaise Zabini approaching.

Zabini stood at the foot of Ron's bed. "I want to thank you, Potter."

Harry looked at him with the same impassive expression which he had worn for the last week. He then said, "You're welcome," curtly and turned back to staring out the window.

Zabini, who seemed unperturbed by Harry's brusque manner, continued, "If you could tell me what happened to Draco, I would be very grateful."

Upon hearing Malfoy's name, a passive Harry had given way to an enraged Harry. "With any luck – buried under a ton of stones and dirt!" Harry spat.

Zabini's polite expression hardened and he looked ready to jump to Malfoy's defence. However, Harry didn't give him a chance. He rose and stood before Zabini.

"You want to know what happened?" Harry's voice was steadily getting louder. "I'll tell you what happened! He betrayed us. The Death Eaters were there! Wanting to get the anti-virus for themselves! If he isn't dead, then he's probably at a party thrown by Voldemort in honour if his glorious achievement!"

A shocked silence descended into the hospital wing. All eyes were on Harry. Then Harry pushed passed Zabini and stalked out. Hermione jumped to her feet and followed, as did Ron.

"Harry, talk to us." Hermione said in a firm yet gentle voice.

"What is there to say?"

"Tell us what happened."

"I told you already."

While Hermione had absolutely neither love for Malfoy nor the desire to defend him, she knew that unearthing the truth was the only way Harry could lay his ghosts to rest. She pressed on, "No, you keep saying Malfoy betrayed us and took the anti-virus for himself but that's not true, we found the anti-virus in your pocket. Something doesn't add up. Talk to us! We can work this out."

Harry sighed and leaned back. "It doesn't matter, Hermione. Whether he's dead or he's defected, he's not coming back."

"Why do you think he's dead?" Hermione pressed on.

"The tunnel collapsed around us. There was an explosion and everything came crashing down. I managed to get out, but I saw Malfoy disappear under a mound of rubble. Bellatrix Lestrange was there too. Either she was buried with Malfoy or she rescued him."

"Do you really think Malfoy tipped the Death Eaters off?"

"Yes," Harry replied testily, "I didn't cut myself for fun, Hermione." Indeed, when Harry had returned there was a cut on his belly, albeit very shallow.

"Think about it, Harry. Malfoy may not care about any of us, but I believe he was a friend to Blaise Zabini. He wouldn't have betrayed Zabini."

"Only he did," Harry retorted. "I'm not making assumptions here, Hermione. Malfoy had the anti-virus and said so himself that he said he would go willingly with Bellatrix Lestrange."

"And yet we have the cure."

"Look, I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Hermione conceded for the moment. At least, Harry wasn't moping anymore.

"Oh I almost forgot," Hermione suddenly exclaimed as she rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small package. "This came for you at breakfast. Although, I don't know why the owl didn't find you directly."

"Madam Pomfrey's banned all the owls. She said there were too many coming with gifts and cards. Disrupting the boredom of the hospital wing and all," Ron explained wryly.

Harry took the package and opened it. In it was a small vial with a scrap of parchment wrapped around it. "It says: _''Veritas Lux Mea.'_ It's not signed. The writing looks familiar though."

"What's that mean?" Ron asked, looking over Harry's shoulder.

"The truth is my light," Hermione replied.

"Oh, that clears it right up, don't it?"

"Don't look at me, I didn't send it," she retorted. Examining the vial, she continued, "It looks like a memory."

"Do you think Dumbledore'll let you use his Pensieve?" Ron asked.

"Dumbledore's not here," Hermione said. "I heard McGonagall say he was visiting the students who were sent to St. Mungo's."

"That's okay," Harry replied as he began walking again. "I was in his office yesterday; maybe he hasn't changed the password."

As luck would have it, Dumbledore hadn't. Harry emptied the vial into the stone basin. He drew his wand and tapped the memory.

"You guys might as well come along, saves me from having to tell you," Harry said.

"If you're sure," Hermione replied.

"Sure," Harry nodded then plunged into the memory. Hermione followed swiftly, with Ron bringing up the rear.

When Hermione landed she found herself in darkness. A loud rumble shook the walls around her. Before she could say anything, two beams of lights illuminated her surroundings. She could then see she, and Ron and Harry, were in a long dark tunnel.

The beams of lights approached, and Hermione clearly saw another Harry and Malfoy running past them.

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed. "I've seen enough! I don't need to watch him betray us again."

Hermione was ready to retort but decided against it. She knew she didn't have the time to argue about and she knew she had no right to force Harry to watch. But that didn't mean she couldn't watch it herself.

"So, go," she said indifferently. "I'm staying to watch," and with that she ran after the other Harry and Malfoy, giving neither Harry nor Ron the opportunity to protest.

She caught up with her quarries in time to see the other Harry being knocked unconscious. Then Bellatrix Lestrange emerged and the conversation got interesting.

"Hermione--" Harry began when he and Ron caught up with her. She shushed him impatiently.

"I've already heard--" he tried again but Hermione interrupted him testily.

"Really? Because you look unconscious to me. Now shush!" She turned her attention back to the memory.

"... your mother is going to die," Bellatrix said.

Malfoy exclaimed in anger, "You would threaten to kill your own sister?"

"No, silly boy, your mother has been taken by the illness."

A look of anguish flitted across Malfoy's expression.

"We've been taking care of her, but she won't survive long. She needs you, Draco." Bellatrix lifted her hand and crooked her finger at him. "Now be a good boy, take the anti-virus and come with Aunty Bella."

"Don't patronise me, Aunty Bella," Malfoy snapped.

In the seconds that passed, Hermione could virtually see Malfoy's choices, and their consequences, trundling through his mind. She wondered how difficult it was for him to make his choice.

Malfoy continued, "I know you and the Dark Lord have ulterior motives, I find it hard to believe that you and he were doing it for my mother's benefit."

A loud boom echoed in the tunnel, shaking the walls, several more loose stones fell from the ceiling. Hermione noticed the other Harry stirring.

Malfoy glowered at Bellatrix then eventually said, "I have the anti-virus, not Potter, and I will go with you, but know this, Aunty Bella, I do what I feel is necessary to protect what is mine."

Malfoy then crouched down to pick the other Harry up, only to have the latter punch him.

"How stupid was I to trust you?" the other Harry exclaimed and tried to hit Malfoy again.

"Potter, stop!" Malfoy tried to defend himself as the other Harry continued to lash out on him.

Eventually, the ceiling caved in, and the memory faded.

The trio exited the memory wordlessly. When they returned to Dumbledore's office, the summer sun was streaming in through the windows, as if making light of the sombre situation.

Both Ron and Hermione looked warily at Harry. By the expression on his face, it was evident that he was struggling with re-evaluating Malfoy's position as Death Eater spy and traitor, but there was also a brightness to his eyes, some emotion that Hermione couldn't really place. However, she knew that this was not the time and place to ask about it. She, herself, while still intensely disliking Malfoy, understood why he had done what he did. His mother was all that was left of his family, and given the Malfoy fanatic views about blood, Hermione guessed that family always came first for them.

"Well," Ron eventually said breaking the extended silence. "I'd better get back to the hospital wing before Pomfrey realises I'm gone. She'll probably pour some foul tasting potion down my throat as punishment."

"I'll walk you back," Harry offered, as Hermione fell in line as well.

"So, what you doing for summer?" Ron asked.

The tone of the conversation lightened considerably as the three friends wended their way back to the hospital wing.

~FIN~


End file.
